The Last Word
by sss979
Summary: Cowritten with Tiggertoo.  The CIA wants a word with Hannibal about a mission the team pulled off in Vietnam.  But they're going to have a hell of a time bringing him in...  This one's a little more lighthearted and fun than most of my books. *grins*
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

**1982**

Something was wrong.

It was the first – and only – thing Hannibal was aware of as he fought his way through the layers of darkness. Was he asleep? Must be. When had he fallen asleep? Where was he? Memories were slow to return, and all of them were foggy.

Cramped and uncomfortable, he tried to turn onto his side. No go. Startled, he opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a dirty, water damaged tile ceiling. Not his. An attempt to sit up made him realize he was tied, spread eagle, on the bed.

Aw, hell.

Naked and cold from the blasting air conditioner, his thoughts were simple. Along with a growing awareness of just how badthis was, there was both a sense of amusement and indignant frustration. He pulled on the bonds around his wrists. Not ropes – cuffs. She was smart. The amusement was fading.

"Suzanne!" he called loudly, just in case she was still there. He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. With a frustrated growl, he pulled himself up as much as he could and looked at the ropes wound around his ankles. That was not good. He was not getting out of this without help. Especially given the screaming pain in his shoulder every time he even thought about moving.

"Damn it!"

He fell back again, closed his eyes, and breathed deep a few times. No sense getting angry about it. He had bigger and more important things to think about right now than what he was going to do when he got his hands on her. First, he had to figure out how in the hell he was supposed to get his hands out of these cuffs.

She'd drugged him. That was the reason behind the ringing in his ears and the fog in his head. He remembered vague details as the confusion slowly cleared. Waking up drugged was so much slower and more perplexing than waking up from a deep sleep. He turned his head and glanced at the clock. 6:02. Judging by the light coming through the shaded window, it was six in the evening, not in the morning. Which meant he'd either been here for over twenty-four hours – he wasn't hungry enough for that to be the case – or less than two.

She'd gone for backup. If she'd been smart, she would've had them on standby when she got the brilliant idea to knock him out. No way she could've possibly expected to carry him out of here on her own. But two hours was a hell of a long time. Had she gone three counties over to get her help? Of course, it was rush hour. And it wasn't like he was going anywhere. She didn't need to hurry on his account.

Damn it…

How long would it take her to get back? He considered it as he pulled on the cuffs, testing to see how much room he had to maneuver. The bed was only a double. They had some give. Hell of a lot of good it was going to do him. He hadn't the slightest idea where the key was. She'd probably taken it with her. No way he had anything within his grasp to pick the lock with and, even if he did, he wouldn't be able to twist his hand around enough to do it. No way he'd break the cuffs off the metal post of the headboard. No way he'd break the bed.

He glanced at the clock again, anxiously. Unwelcome guests of the law enforcement variety would be coming through that door any moment now. He didn't even want to think about that. He certainly wasn't in any position to defend himself against it.

"Damn it, Suzy," he muttered under his breath. "You're trying my patience."

How was he supposed to get out of here?


	2. Chapter One

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Several days prior  
**

She was strikingly noticeable. Mid- to late twenties, perhaps, professionally dressed with one hand on her purse and a cigarette in the other. He didn't know who she was - she'd never been on the set before – but the way her eyes never seemed to leave him made one hell of an impression. More likely than not, it meant she was a threat. But she was certainly an interesting - and attractive - one.

For the last fifteen takes of the afternoon shoot, he was totally and completely expecting to be interrupted by MP cars at full speed ahead. He was ready for them. But by the time he'd finished, there were still no cars. And by the time he'd gotten the top half of the massive, bulky costume off, and he finally made eye contact with her, he was at least fifty percent sure she wasn't a threat. At least, not a real threat. Worst case scenario she had a gun under that blazer. It was hard to tell from here.

She smiled as she took a long drag from her cigarette, then looked away from him, towards the director as he approached her. She was full of smiles and confidence as they chatted. From the gestures and glances cast in his direction, he had a feeling they were talking about him. Hmm. Maybe he was only forty-five percent sure of her "non-threat" status.

He disappeared into the trailer to change. It wasn't five minutes later that he heard a firm knock on the door. MPs didn't knock. That left either someone from the shoot or her. Given that she'd been watching him so intently, he suspected the latter. With a cigar between his teeth, he checked to make sure his weapon was out of sight before he called, "Who is it?" He didn't wait for an answer, carefully pulling the curtain back to see for himself.

"Mr. Smith?" The female voice had a flirty tone to it. So did her smile, although she wasn't looking up at him. "I'm a friend of the director's. I was hoping I could get an audience with you when you have a moment."

An audience. A grin crossed his face. He didn't know what she wanted but at least she had style. He really wanted to shower and change - spending the day baking inside a giant latex lizard suit under the California sun did bad things to a person - but he was interested to see what this lady was about. And in a one-on-one situation, he was safe. Even in half a lizard suit, he was more than capable of holding his own. Besides, it would be fun to watch her reaction to him in his current state of half-dress.

Still grinning and clenching his cigar in his teeth, he opened the door and leaned causally against the frame, arms crossed. He gave her a quick look up and down. No tell-tale bulges under the jacket – he checked, now that she was closer – or anywhere else to give away the presence of a gun. And nice legs. Her entire figure was shaped nicely - very eye catching. Maybe Lynch was getting better at picking out his decoys.

Removing the cigar, he smiled at her. "I think I have a moment or two to grant you an audience. Please, come in." He stepped back and out of the door, gesturing her inside.

"Actually, I'd rather talk out here, if that's alright." The refusal was professional and polite. The way she eyed him up and down, and the smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth, was anything but. "You understand."

He smiled. Either she needed to stay in sight of her backup or she was simply smart enough not to risk coming inside a confined trailer with an unknown man. That raised his opinion of her a bit. The blatant flirting in the way she was looking him up and down was a nice bonus to chatting with her. But if she wasn't comfortable coming in, it was strictly an MO. She knew what she had; she knew how to use it to get what she wanted. It was… refreshing.

"Alright. So what can I do for you, Miss…?"

"Alvine." She held out a business card she'd been holding between her fingers. "Rachel Alvine. I'm a friend of the director's."

She hesitated a beat, giving him a chance to look at the card. Heavy stock, very plain, just like a hundred other agents' cards. Her eyes never left him, and the professional tone dropped back into one more friendly, almost teasing.

"I understand you recently fired your agent. And I was wondering if you were perhaps looking for a replacement."

Something was off. Maybe it was just the way she was looking at him – flirty and yet cautious. It was the "cautious" part that didn't fit. An agent on the prowl in Hollywood would swim with the sharks while wearing a steak swimsuit. She wanted something.

Taking a puff on the cigar, Hannibal smiled. "My agent and I didn't quite see eye to eye." His tone took a slightly more serious quality and he waved his cigar toward the head of his costume, sitting on the table next to his trailer. "Like how the Aquamanic has the heart and soul of a poet, wrapped in the shell of a monster. It's really a metaphor for post-industrial society."

She laughed lightly, but he kept a straight face. "I see." She smiled up at him and leaned on the door frame. "I'm not sure I entirely grasp that. But perhaps you could explain it to me over coffee. And we could discuss where your—" Her eyes raked him again. "—interests lie."

Hannibal smiled to himself. She had gotten that response just right. Laughter, interest, and blatant appraisal of him. Nice. She knew the game. And she still hadn't given him anything on which to base his assessment of her. He knew she wanted something. He hadn't a clue what it might be.

"I would love to plumb the depths of the misunderstood tragic figure of the Aquamanic with you, Miss Alvine." The cigar made its way back into his mouth. "But I do have some prior commitments."

"My schedule is open. Just name the time and place."

"How about Thursday, at the Delta Café. Say noon?" He gave her another more complete appraisal, allowing his eyes to linger just a fraction of a second more than needed. He was, after all, just returning the favor. Besides, she did have a stunning set of pins on her. Smiling more broadly, he looked back at her eyes to see if there was any reaction to his ogling as he waited for her answer.

She smiled confidently, setting her shoulders back and her chin slightly up. If his scrutiny made her the least bit uncomfortable, she didn't show it. In fact, her pose might almost be considered preening. "Thursday sounds great. Pleasure meeting you, Mr. Smith."

She extended a hand and shook with him before she turned and walked away. Firm handshake. Determined stride. There was a bit of swivel to her hips that had been absent before. Hannibal watched her with a smile. It would be a shame to let her efforts go to waste. "Miss Alvine?"

She turned and looked back, over her shoulder, brows raised. "Yes?" she asked innocently.

With his best knowing grin, he answered confidently. "It's been a pleasure to watch you work."

She smiled, and turned away again. This time, he let her go. This smelled like a trap. But it was a damn good-looking one.

*X*X*X*

Rachel Alvine was one of the industry's up and coming agents. She was a 6'1" bleach blonde, and she bore no resemblance to the 5'6" dark skinned woman who'd visited the set the day before. Hannibal wasn't surprised by the inconsistency. He'd been counting on the fact that it was at least possible – if not likely – that his coffee date's story wouldn't check out. That was why he'd decided to check her out to begin with. That and the ever present paranoia that had served him well for ten years. No reason to change patterns that had so far proven worthy of the effort.

He was impressed that she'd gone through the trouble of using a real agent's name and card. A quick but friendly chat had ended with him leaving with another, identical card in hand. That probably meant she wasn't working for Lynch. He wouldn't bother with that kind of security. He had yet to figure out the value of a coherent plan.

For his part, Hannibal really wished he'd had a photo of the "Rachel Alvine" from the set when he stopped at the office of Rachel Alvine the agent. It was an identical card, and she'd probably come here to pick it up. She'd figured no one would think to pay a visit to the office when they had a coffee date set up already. She'd figured herself safe. With anyone less cautious, she probably would've been.

He was pretty sure she was bad news. He just didn't know what kind of setup this was, or who was playing it. Before he walked headlong into it, he needed to know those things. He didn't mind a well-set trap; some of them were fun to spring just to see how the pieces fell. But he wasn't going to gamble with his freedom just for the hell of it. She wanted something. He needed to know what it was. At this point, it was just morbid curiosity. But that curiosity was a force to be reckoned with.

In spite of her nice legs, there was really nothing about her that made him regret letting her sit and sweat and fidget for an hour or two until she figured out that he wasn't coming to their coffee date. Bottom line, she'd lied. And lying potential-threats could sit in the sun from now 'til kingdom come, for all he cared.

Sipping his coffee slowly, he watched her under the low brim of the cowboy hat. The air was warm and a little too humid, but the hat at least kept the sun off of his face. His makeup wouldn't run that way. And he was certainly wearing a lot of it. He wasn't sure who, exactly, he'd have to fool with it. If it was just her, no problem. If it was someone more dangerous, he needed to be ready for an inconspicuous getaway, if not a lightning fast one. And he was fully expecting that she had more eyes on her than he could see right now. Who would respond when he didn't show? Who would she contact? She obviously knew who he was. But she'd made no effort to blow his cover. So what did she want?

He smirked slightly as he watched her check her watch for the third time in five minutes. Shouldn't be long now…

He glanced at the car that pulled up and parallel parked directly in front of her. A moment later, a young man stepped out, grabbed a large bouquet of flowers out of the back seat, and walked right up to her. "Rachel Alvine?"

Hannibal was just close enough to hear her surprised response. "Yes?"

"Oh, good." The boy gave a sigh of relief as he handed her the flowers. "This has to be the most unusual delivery I've ever done."

She stared at him in shock as he gave her a smile, turned, and walked away. The look on her face as she watched him go made Hannibal smile. She didn't know what to think. That was a good sign. As she took the card and read it, he waited for her reaction. He knew exactly what it said. He'd called it in just an hour earlier. _"Sorry I couldn't make it. By the way, who are you really working for? -H"_

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, then darted around. He lowered his head, attention on his coffee, and waited, watching her reflection in the window. She read the card again, then leaned forward with her head in her hand.

"Shit…"

She clearly had an agenda. And whether she was simply disappointed with her lack of success or she was working as a plant for someone else, he wasn't immediately sure. The longer he watched her, the more he leaned towards the former. She wasn't there for Lynch; he knew that almost for certain. His pawns had nothing to lose, no reason for such an emotional response. If she was working for someone, it was someone else. Maybe someone more interesting.

Hannibal smiled to himself as he took one last sip of his coffee. Now it was just a matter of figuring out who she _was_ working for. And what she wanted. He set his empty cup aside as he stood slowly to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane as he turned and walked in the opposite direction. If she had any determination at all, she'd be back. He'd find out soon enough what he wanted to know.


	3. Chapter Two

**CHAPTER TWO**

"What you want? Why you come here?"

The woman stood in the doorway, looking around the shop with a mix of confusion and interest. _This _was the starting point for the famous A-Team? It looked like a garage that needed a good spring cleaning. The counters and tables set around the room like a maze were piled high with all sorts of tools and cords and small appliances and bits of electronics. TVs and stereos, speakers and lamps, bowls and tablecloths and shot glasses. There was no method to the madness. What was this shop supposed to be, anyways?

"I want to hire the A-Team," she said firmly, locking eyes on the man standing near the back of the store.

He gave her a funny look. He was hunched over and larger than any Chinese she had ever seen. And he had blue eyes. No Chinese – not even mixed – had blue eyes. He was a plant. A safe go-between. Interesting that Hannibal would be so extra cautious about so many things, and ultimately not take the precaution to get an actual Chinese man to play the part of Mr. Lee. It wasn't like he would've had to pay him all that much. This shop was only open for three hours in the morning on Saturday and Sunday. If he'd gotten an actual Chinese man to run it, he could've lived partly on the profits – assuming he would've found something profitable to sell - and made this cover a little less conspicuous. Careless. This place was so obviously a cover, it was sad.

"There no A-Team here, Missy."

She sighed. Of course she would have to play this game. She hadn't gone through the process the rest of them had. Random meetings in alleyways, crazy directions that led to nowhere, standing on dark corners in the rain. "Alright, look. I've talked to six people who've hired them before and they all have this shop – and _you _– in common. You're Mr. Lee, right?"

He stared, saying nothing. No confirmation, but no denial either. She didn't really need it. She knew who he was. He was the last stop, according to the A-Team's previous clients. He wanted money, he wanted a story, and then he'd deliver both to Hannibal Smith, who would be in contact within a week, but usually only twenty-four hours or so. The story varied little from one client to the next. She'd come prepared.

"I Mr. Lee. Who are you?"

"My name is Jennifer Sanchos." Eyes locked on him, she reached into her purse. The way he tensed, it wasn't clear what he was expecting her to pull out of there. She smirked as she withdrew a stack of bills and set them on the table in front of her. "I have money. I hear they need a lot of it. I've got plenty, and I want to hire them."

He eyed the money for a long moment, then leaned forward on the table as he eyed her. "What you need A-Team for?"

The money seemed to have the desired effect. Former Special Forces/SOG or not, Smith and his team where nothing more than mercenaries now. Still, all six of the people she had talked to had needed 'help' of some sort, so she had taken the precaution of a cover story that would withstand a background check. The money alone wouldn't do her much good without a believable story.

Biting her lip and hesitating for just the right amount of time, she gave a seemingly nervous glance around the room. "It's my employer," she said softly, worried. "Teladine Aerospace. Someone is stealing secrets."

"Why you care?"

"Why do I care?" She acted as if she couldn't believe he'd just asked that. But really, she wasn't all that surprised. "Because they're _dangerous_ secrets. Teladine Aerospace handles top secret government stuff!"

He watched her with no obvious reaction. "Sound like a problem for police. I give you phone number. You wait."

She frowned as he turned away. She had expected this sort of thing. From what the former clients had said there was a lot of run around and denial in getting to Smith. The man was paranoid. But not in the stockade, so it seemed to work for him.

"No, please, you don't understand." She added a desperate, pleading tone to her voice and leaned in closer, eyes wide and full of worry. "I can't go to the police. These are top secret projects, worth millions. If the people who are taking them find out, they'll kill me. Please Mr. Lee, I need the A-Team."

He turned back to her and crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed. "Missy have very big problem. Project worth millions, you say?"

"That's right."

He tipped his head curiously. "This not seem like a job for fugitive A-Team. Sound like big government problem."

"I need to get proof before the government will listen to me._" _There was nothing but complete sincerity and worry in her voice. Yes, acting was an important and well-practiced art. "And by the time the government gets around to investigating, it will be too late. This is more than just money. These secrets can get a lot of people hurt."

She had worked on her cover story. This pretend company had defense contracts, and it would pass any background checks they ran it through. She was rather pleased with how well she had prepared. She was able to slide right in to her story.

He continued to eye her carefully. "A-Team is very expensive. How much money missy got?" He eyed the stack on the table.

"I have fifteen hundred here, for a retainer." She paused and bit her lip, making sure to look worried. And now for the coup de gras. "I have access to another thirty-five thousand." She lowered her eyes. "My parents died two years ago, I have been saving the insurance money for a house. But this is more important."

"That not enough. A-Team is very expensive."

She stared. She was just a poor girl trying to do right and stay safe. But, of course, all they gave a damn about was money. That was okay. She could go with that. "I can get more. Please, just tell me how much. Please, Mr. Lee."

Yes, the character she had created would plead so openly. And yes, Smith's team would of course hold her up for more money. She kept every hint of cynicism out of her expression as she watched him watching her.

His suspicion was obvious. "How I know you are who you say?"

She blinked. "What?"

He held out a hand. "You show ID."

She stared. He wanted identification? Did all their clients have to go through this? There was something uncomfortable about handing over her driver's license to a complete stranger. But luckily, she'd prepared that, too. It always paid to be ready for anything. She watched him carefully as she withdrew her wallet, and the driver's license belonging to Jennifer Sanchos, and handed it to him.

He studied it for a moment, then finally nodded. "You go to pier at Hudson Beach. Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock. If A-Team want work for you, they meet you there." He handed her license back, then turned. "You go now."

It was clearly the end of the conversation, and he headed up the steps at the back of the store. She gave Mr. Lee her best relieved smile, although he was turned away and couldn't see it. "Thank you, Mr. Lee."

She waited until he was out of sight before she turned on her heel and left. Careful to stay in character, she headed for her car, watching her surroundings covertly. Another meet; that was smart. It gave them time to check her story, and set up whatever it was they needed to. She would do a quick recon of the area tomorrow before seven o'clock.

It wasn't until she was in traffic and sure she wasn't being followed that she let herself smile. Hannibal Smith had bested her once, but it wasn't going to happen again. As soon as Mr. Lee delivered her story to him, she would be calling the shots.

*X*X*X*

Face saw Hannibal almost before Hannibal saw him. Standing on the second story balcony, dressed comfortably in loose jeans and a T-shirt, he waited until Face was in comfortable speaking distance before calling down to him. "Evening, Lieutenant."

Face smiled and nodded. "Colonel."

"Door's open."

Face didn't break stride as he opened the door to the apartment, locked it behind him, and started up the carpeted steps. Hannibal didn't spend much time at this apartment, and it showed. There was no furniture except for a couch, a mattress on the floor and a couple of lawn chairs at a fold-out table. It was a studio, not unnecessarily spacious. Hannibal preferred to keep it as a "safe house" of sorts, and sleep in any number of motels scattered all throughout the city. Face was almost surprised to be meeting him here.

"Long day at the office?" Face smirked as he walked out onto the balcony.

Hannibal returned the smile. "As per usual. Drink?" He raised the glass, ever so casually, and gestured to the bottle on the table that was just barely small enough to fit in the confined space.

"Sure." Face tossed the abnormally thin file he'd been carrying down on the table as he grabbed the bottle of scotch, studied it for a moment, then grabbed the glass off the table. Hannibal stepped back from the railing as Face poured, and reclined comfortably at the table.

"So, I spent pretty much the entire day running down this new client of yours," Face said as he recapped the bottle and sat down across from Hannibal. "This Rachel Alvine-slash-Jennifer Sanchos? And I gotta say," he tipped his glass to the folder, "I don't have much to show for it."

"Why is that?"

"Because, Hannibal, she's a ghost."

Hannibal raised a brow. "As in spook?"

Face smiled and took a sip off his glass. "Possibly. But actually, that wasn't a play on words. I haven't got a clue who she's working for."

Hannibal blinked, as if confused. "None at all?"

Face continued to look at him with amusement, but didn't speak.

"Alight. Care to elaborate, Lieutenant?" Hannibal set his cigar between his teeth, waiting expectantly.

"I would love to, there's just not much to elaborate with." He sat forward and opened the folder to his notes in the front of it. "Her original name is Suzanne Marie Davids; I can tell you that much. And she didn't get those IDs off the street. She's changed her name legally ten times in the past five years, across seven states."

He raised a brow. "That leaves a hell of a paper trail."

"Yeah, but it's the _only _paper trail. She's the daughter of Emma and Clint Davids, both deceased and, by the way, they're ghosts, too. Went to school in Columbus, Ohio - and I mean high school, not college. Date of birth 21 May, 1955. Past a speeding ticket at the age of 22, I've got nothing on her except the name changes."

"Were they marriages? Divorces?"

"Neither. Just legal name changes in Florida, Nebraska, Maine, South Carolina, Michigan, Texas, and Oregon."

Hannibal raised a brow. "She gets around."

"That's the thing," Face said. "The legal process to change a name takes time. In several of these instances, the court order was signed off on just a week apart."

"Meaning…?"

"That she probably didn't go through this process the typical way it's done. Somebody pulled strings."

"Witness protection?"

Face shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. The name changes were tough to trace, but I was still able to do it in 24 hours without leaving the state of California. Witness protection would make it harder than that to find their people. At least, I'd hope they would."

"What about where she's living now? Did you check with anyone there?"

Face raised his brow. "She could live in Never Never Land for all I know. The address you gave me off of her driver's license? That building was condemned ten years ago, torn down in 78. And the address on the speeding ticket, same deal. Condemned house, since torn down."

"Any connection between the two?"

"None that I could see."

"Was it condemned at the time of the ticket?"

"Yes. The shopping mall that's there now has been there since the late 60s. It was probably condemned at the time she put it on her license."

Hannibal studied him for a moment, then reached out a hand for the folder. Face handed it over to him with a smile, and reclined back, relaxing as Hannibal spent a moment staring at the contents. Birth certificate, five copies of change of name, certificate of death on both her parents - for the same day. Must have been an accident. High school transcripts - all As - and said speeding ticket.

Finally, he looked back up at Face. "This is it?"

Face gave a full, practiced smile. "Yeah. Ten hours of sifting and typing and talking and _bribing_ - because those people at the DMV are just really difficult to work with - and I still can't tell you a thing about her car, house, income, social status, schooling, career path or what in the _hell_ she would need us for." He paused. "What did she say this job was, anyways?"

"Oh, it was bogus," Hannibal shrugged. "Something about government secrets being stolen. Who do you think she's working for?"

Face did a double take on the turn in the conversation. But he let his question go. It wasn't really important. "I can't say. But whoever it is, they have an interesting way of manipulating the system."

Hannibal glanced back at Face. "FBI? CIA?"

"DEA, FDA," he teased with a smile. "Hell, I can't even rule out KGB at this point."

Face took another sip off his drink. Whoever she was, if she actually had a problem, she didn't need their help. She had plenty of resources of her own. And Face was less than thrilled with the idea of rubbing shoulders with law enforcement agencies of any kind.

Hannibal chuckled as he looked back down at the folder. When he looked up again, he had that glint in his eye. "I _like _her. She's interesting."

Face's smile fell as soon as he saw that look. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" Hannibal asked innocently.

Face groaned. He couldn't help it. "Aw, come on, Hannibal. Whoever she is, she's clearly trouble."

"Yes, but she could be a very fun kind of trouble."

Face rolled his eyes. "Hannibal, this isn't funny." Why did he have to play cat and mouse? No, scratch that. Why did he have to _enjoy _playing cat and mouse? "The only thing we _do _know about her is that she lied and she's got no past. What about that seems like a good idea?"

"Does she have a military record at all?"

"No, but -"

"Lynch wouldn't go through that kind of trouble to cover up a plant."

Face's eyes narrowed. "So Lynch isn't involved. Does that mean she's safe?"

Hannibal's grin broadened. "No. It means she's interesting. It's all in how you look at things, Lieutenant."

Face's expression soured even more at that "kid in a candy store" look Hannibal was wearing. "All this does is add a new player to the lineup of people who want us in handcuffs. And this one doesn't seem to have to play by any particular set of rules."

Hannibal shrugged. "We don't know that. Maybe she had a legitimate reason for going to ground."

"And lying to you?"

He gestured with his glass. "Clearly she has something to hide. That doesn't make her dangerous."

Face shook his head. "You're not going to convince me this is a good idea, Hannibal."

"She might actually need our help." He couldn't even say it with a straight face. No way in hell he could expect Face to believe it. He was just playing with the fire, like he did every time he got on the jazz.

Face sighed.

Hannibal chuckled, then turned slightly more serious. "Don't worry about it, Lieutenant. I think for now I'm going to keep the team out of it. At least until I know what her agenda is."

"You're what?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Keep the team out of it? That was just dumb.

"Something wrong?" Hannibal asked with that same innocent tone.

"Not unless you just told me you're going to try and handle this unknown woman who's probably working for some government agency alone."

Hannibal shrugged. "There aren't any government agencies besides the Army that ought to have any interest in us."

Face frowned deeply. "Hannibal, we're fugitives. LAPD, FBI, CIA - they're all law enforcement and they all have as much of an interest in us as Lynch does."

"Though I must admit…" Hannibal wasn't even listening to him. "I was hoping to get some more information on her before I confronted her on that over-the-top cover story she gave Mr. Lee."

Face sighed. "All the more reason to just walk away."

Hannibal smiled, and sipped his drink once more, glancing over the top of it with his eyes dancing. "Yeah. But what would be the fun in that?"

He was definitely on the jazz.


	4. Chapter Three

**CHAPTER THREE**

Threat. Hannibal was bolt upright in an instant, and the gun under his pillow was in his hand. Something was wrong. Something had woken him. He wasn't alone.

Door closing. Steps on the stairway. Hannibal moved slowly to keep the bed from creaking. To his feet and to the open doorway. He looked around the corner just as the figure reached the landing and stepped up into the living room of the efficiency apartment. The intruder took one step, just far enough to cross right in front of Hannibal, then stopped dead as the barrel of Hannibal's pistol met the back of his neck.

"Hannibal. It's me."

Still half asleep, the voice didn't immediately register. Hannibal kept the gun in place as he took one silent step to the side and flicked on the light. Finally, he let out the breath he'd been holding in a sigh of relief. "BA, what are you doing here?"

He could see BA's shoulders sag as he let out his breath too, and turned. "Sorry, Hannibal. Didn't mean ta scare you. Thought you wasn't here."

"Did you even knock?" He set the gun on the ledge as he ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't hear a thing."

"Yeah. I knocked. You didn't answer."

Hannibal sighed. "Sorry." Shaking his head, he crossed the bare room to the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the wall as he passed. It was 3:00 in the morning. "So what can I do for you, Sergeant?"

"Oh." BA lowered his head. "Nothing. Just… needed a place to be tonight. Lynch come knockin' around my motel earlier today. Needed a place to go. Place that's safe."

Hannibal grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water from the tap. "Well, you're welcome to stay. The couch folds out."

"Yeah…"

Hannibal studied him for a long moment. Something was wrong. Even if it wasn't written all over his face, the fact that he'd chosen to come here instead of simply finding another hotel room spoke volumes. Hannibal finished his glass, refilled it, and walked the few steps back to the living room where he leaned on the wall. "What's on your mind, BA?"

BA hesitated for a long moment, then finally looked across at Hannibal. "Face told me about this woman who been followin' you. He say she with the government or something."

Hannibal nodded once. "That's the working theory right now."

BA paused again, this time even longer. "Whaddayou think she wants?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

BA frowned. "I don't like no people workin' for the government pokin' around here, Hannibal. The Army's bad enough. We don't need the FBI on us too, tryin' to arrest us."

"I don't think she's FBI."

"Then whaddayou think?"

Hannibal hesitated. "My gut says she's with the Agency."

BA's frown deepened. "Why?"

"Well, given what Face turned up on her, I was thinking either that or witness protection. Her history is one big lie. The FBI doesn't do that."

"And the CIA don't work here in the States."

"Yeah. That's why I think it's something personal. Something they don't want other agencies involved in."

"What do you mean, personal?"

Hannibal remained quiet as he watched him for a moment, waiting for him to put the pieces together for himself. BA knew full well how personal things were between Hannibal and the Agency. He'd been there for most of the finer moments of the partnership between the primitive CIA and the US Armed Forces.

"Aw, Hannibal…" Hannibal could tell he understood by the dismay in his tone. "I don't wanna hear that."

Hannibal smiled faintly. "I can't confirm it yet. But my best guess is that she's tying up loose ends from Vietnam."

As their eyes locked again, BA's face fell noticeably. "Hannibal…"

Hannibal shook his head as he looked away, trying to alleviate some of the tension. "She's not a threat, in and of herself. I still have to find out what she knows. And find out for sure who she is."

"The CIA shouldn't want nothin' with us, Hannibal," BA said softly. "We did for them what they wanted. And I sure don't want nothin' to do with them."

Hannibal nodded slowly as he forced a smile. "I know how you feel."

BA looked away, and didn't speak.

Finally, after a long pause, Hannibal continued. "But until she proves otherwise—" His smile grew more genuine as he considered his words. "—she's just another mouse to toy with. Kind of like Lynch."

*X*X*X*

She was waiting right where Mr. Lee had told her to be, in the same disguise she'd worn to talk to him. It made Hannibal smile this time, too. It wasn't an unconvincing makeup job, but he knew his way around disguises - inside, outside, and upside down. He watched her pace on the pier, let her wait. The longer she waited, the more uncomfortable she would grow and the more off-balance she would be. That could only work to his benefit.

Finally, he checked his pistol one more time and casually walked out to meet her. No formalities, no games, to run through fifteen different channels so that he could weed out the potential danger. He knew she wasn't who she was pretending to be. No need to confirm it. And no need to give her an inside look at how they did business in the meantime.

"Miss Davids?"

In spite of the fact that she didn't look tremendously like the woman who'd come to meet him on the set, and in spite of the fact that even that woman had not given him her real name, he knew exactly what to call her. There was no genuine question in his greeting.

She was clearly startled as she turned to him, but she quickly hid her discomfort. "Colonel Smith," she replied in a forced, though friendly, tone.

He smiled. "If you'd be so kind as to keep your hands where I can see them, I'd be much obliged."

She didn't raise her hands, but she made no move to conceal them, or to reach for anything. They were down by her sides, just the way they had been when he'd walked up to her in the first place. "Seems as though you have an unreliable secretary making out your appointment list."

He raised a brow as he approached slowly, casually, and leaned against the railing. "Unreliable?" he asked, curiously.

"Last Thursday, coffee at the Delta Café." She cocked her head, studying him carefully. "Noon, if I remember correctly."

"Ah, yes." He turned to face the ocean, watching her out of the corner of his eye but appearing, for all intents and purposes, completely relaxed. "Sorry, I had something come up. I hope the flowers were at least some consolation."

She hesitated a moment before finally answering. "I'm more of an orchid kind of girl than your generic flower store teddy gram."

He smiled. "Duly noted."

He could feel her eyes on him - watching him. Reading him. He didn't mind it. He was reading her, too - and all of his surroundings at the same time. He may have been "watching" the ocean, but he knew exactly how many people were on the pier and how many of them posed a potential threat. He also knew precisely how many strides it would take to get to her, or out of sight, or to his car.

He turned, resting his elbow on the railing. "Have you eaten?" he asked casually. "It's not exactly standard protocol, but I'm starving. And you need a place to take off that makeup." His smile broadened. "You're much prettier without it. And I know for a fact it's not comfortable."

She threw him a glare that almost made him chuckle, but quickly regained her control. "You have reservations somewhere?"

"I do."

She laughed, but it held no humor. "Oh, of course you do. Why wouldn't you?"

He pointed across the wood deck that ran from where they were standing to the line of businesses along the beach. "Right there in," he checked his watch, "fifteen minutes."

She glared at him. "You planned this whole thing, didn't you? Right from the start."

It wasn't really a question. It didn't require an answer. He didn't give her one. Instead, he simply smiled. "Would you care to join me or shall I be dining alone?"

*X*X*X*

"So," Hannibal started as he reclined comfortably at the table near the window, watching the sun set over the ocean. He kept one eye on the woman seated across from him as she sipped her glass of water. "I could try again with the flowers, and restate the question. Or you could just tell me what you're really doing here."

She smiled politely at him. "You do get style points for getting straight to the point, Mr. Smith."

He shrugged. "I see no point in wasting your time and mine. And on some level, I'm genuinely curious. You've gone through an awful lot of trouble to make me believe you're trying to be friendly, to say nothing of the attempts to conceal your identity. It says a lot, Miss Davids."

"Alright." She leaned forward slightly, reaching into her purse for a cigarette. "The person that I work for is interested in arranging a meeting."

Hannibal chuckled at that. But he had a lighter ready by the time she had her cigarette to her lips. She stared at it for a moment as if it might bite her, then finally leaned forward to the flame. "Thank you."

"Let's get one thing straight, Miss Davids," he said as he replaced his lighter in his pocket. "I have been very careful not to insult your intelligence thus far. But if you think I'm going to accept an answer like that, you're going to get an unpleasant surprise."

Her eyes narrowed. "He simply wants to discuss a few things with you."

"He?"

"Friendly, off the record," she continued, ignoring him. "Nothing for you to worry about."

He nodded quietly. "You'll understand if I'm a bit skeptical. You know who I am. That means you also know something about my current situation." He paused for a drink. "I don't make a habit of friendly, off the record chats with people who send beautiful women to lie and distract me into clandestine meetings. If you want my cooperation, you're going to have to be a little more specific."

She raised a brow at him. "You go through a whole lot of trouble to cover up that paranoia."

"I wouldn't go so far as to call it paranoia. But I'm not stupid."

"Semantics, Colonel."

"When it's the difference between freedom and a military prison, it's more than just semantics."

"So you do take some things seriously."

"I think my track record speaks to that."

"Your track record speaks to a lot of things."

"And what it says depends an awful lot on who you got it from. So we're back to where we started. Is this an individual you work for? Or perhaps a government agency."

A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips. "What do you think?"

"I think that either you're an extremely dedicated private investigator who wants God-knows-what or, more likely, you're working for a former employer of mine. And I don't mean the Army."

"Your paranoia serves you well."

He paused for a long moment, taking a drink. "What do you want with me?" he finally asked. His voice was flat, all jesting suddenly gone from his tone.

She leaned forward, her chin resting on her hand as she flipped her hair just slightly and took a drag from her cigarette. "My boss just wants to talk. Nothing more."

He laughed. "Miss Davids, if you think that there is a force on this earth that could get me to sit down and have a friendly talk with the Agency, you have seriously overestimated my patience for bullshit."

She raised her brow at that, not quite sure how to take it. He stared back at her, unmoved and expressionless. The Agency did nothing but put a bad taste in his mouth. Not that they were a threat; certainly the MPs were more threatening. But he had zero interest in a friendly chat with them. Whatever they wanted from him, they could go to hell.

He paused and sipped his drink, considering his words carefully. "I haven't had any dealings with the Agency in over ten years," he finally said, quietly. "I'm a wanted fugitive. And even if I wasn't, we didn't exactly part ways on the best of terms."

"Yes, I'm aware of that."

"Then you're aware that they almost cost me my military career several times over."

She smiled, and her tone was somehow both biting and polite. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore."

"Granted." He shrugged it off. "But if you think I'm going anywhere with you, you have another thing coming."

She sighed, and pushed herself so that she was sitting upright again. "Look, Smith, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way."

"Which way involves you going back and reporting to your superiors that I would rather swim naked with piranhas than join them for their meeting?"

"I'm afraid the piranhas are not an option." Her gaze was steady on him. "If you refuse to come with me willingly, I'm just going to have to take you in."

He laughed. "You and what army?"

She watched him steadily. "Don't underestimate me, Colonel Smith."

His smile remained in place. "Don't underestimate _me_, Miss Davids."

She sighed, and dragged off of her cigarette again. It seemed they had a standoff. He watched to see what she would do, acutely aware of his surroundings and any potential backup she may have nearby.

"I'm prepared to negotiate an agreement for you to come in," she offered.

"You mean a plea bargain?"

She looked at him flatly. "No."

"How about you tell me _exactly _what your boss wants, and I'll _consider_ negotiating a way for him to come to me."

"I'm afraid I don't have much more to tell you even if I wanted to." Her eyes locked on him, a glimmer of challenge. "Perhaps all you overestimated was my pay grade."

He nodded and stood slowly. "Well, in that case, I think we're probably done here. I like you, Miss Davids. And under a different set of circumstances, this could've been a very enjoyable evening. But as it stands, I'm afraid the moment has passed. And I really must be going."

"Don't walk away from me, Colonel," she warned, not looking up at him. "You will regret it."

"I think I'll take my chances." He tossed a few bills on the table. They hadn't even ordered yet; it was just a courtesy measure. "Tell your supervisors that I'm not interested, no way, no how, but I wish them luck in all of their future endeavors."

"It doesn't work that way, Smith." He could hear the tone in her voice change from forced pleasantry to irritation.

"Well, you can also tell them that if they want to try again, they may get just a _little _further if they send me somebody who's not just a go-fer. Because in spite of your nice legs and very attractive figure, if you can't tell me what I want to know, there's no way in hell I'm going anywhere with you."

Finally, she looked up at him. Her eyes were blazing with anger, but she kept her tone measured. "Do you tuck tail and run every time you don't get your questions answered right away?" she challenged. "Or is it just that you aren't used to not getting your way with women?"

He smiled, full of confidence. "Getting my way, Suzy?"

"It's Suzanne," she corrected with a tone that could've cut steel.

"I have no doubt I could 'get my way' with you. But the cost-benefit ratio simply isn't worth it."

He smiled wickedly as he reached out to touch the side of her face, but she jerked away roughly and in a flash, her glass of water was in his face and all down the front of his shirt. She was on her feet, toe to toe with him, before he even had his eyes open again.

"Don't talk to me about cost-benefit ratio," she growled at him quietly, no more pretense to her open aggression. "The only reason you're still breathing is because it's not worth the paperwork it would cost to shoot you."

He opened his eyes finally, to look at her. "I'm not quite sure what I've done to deserve that level of personal involvement on your behalf, but it's duly noted."

"You're a goddamn cold blooded murderer," she snarled at him. "And as far as I'm concerned, you and your entire team can burn in hell."

He stopped, stared, and for a moment, had nothing to say. Before he managed to find words, the waiter was standing beside him with an uncomfortable look on his face. "Is everything alright?"

The fact that they were both standing - clearly arguing - and that he was dripping water from his face seemed to answer that question in and of itself. As she pushed past them both, heading for the door, Hannibal turned and smiled at the man. "Just a small disagreement."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out another twenty dollar bill, tucking into the man's breast pocket. "Sorry for the commotion. Have a nice evening."

Without another word, he turned and headed for the door, past the patrons, out onto the sidewalk. "Hey!"

She stopped and looked back at him, clearly angry but with a brow raised expectantly.

"Listen, lady." The teasing was gone, as was every ounce of patience. He stepped in closer to her and lowered his voice. "I don't know what you think you know about me, or my team. But I'm going to tell you this only once."

She crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for him to continue.

"My team was the best goddamn unit in that country. We were soldiers. But we were _not _murderers."

"Bullshit," she answered coldly. "I've read your file."

"Then you read wrong," he growled. "I am a lot of things, Miss Davids. That is not one of them."

"Yeah?" The challenge in her tone was clear. Eyes narrowed in hate, she leaned in close. "Tell it to the families buried at Linh Hu Nao."

Hannibal's jaw clenched. But for a moment, he didn't trust himself to speak. There was nothing he could say that wouldn't make the anger in his chest overflow. Instead, he bit his tongue, and watched as she looked him up and down.

"I'm not prepared to make an arrest right now," she snapped at him. "But if I were you, I'd very carefully reconsider. Because next time we meet, it will not be so friendly."

He said nothing. Eyes cold and jaw screwed shut, he watched in silence as she turned away and headed for her car.


	5. Chapter Four

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**1969**

Hannibal tossed the "Top Secret" folder in his hand onto the table in the center of the room for whoever wanted it as he walked around to the far side, set down the tin cup full of coffee, and grabbed a cigar out of his pocket. His team was present, half dressed, tired. Cruiser grumbled a sarcastic, "Morning, sunshine," in his direction, but he ignored him. Boston silently took up residence in the corner, eyes still blurry with sleep as he leaned forward, head in his hands, rifle across his lap. Face was standing, dressed except for his shirt. BA, as the newest addition to the team, only gave a brief glare as he sat down against the wall and leaned his rifle in reach beside him.

Hannibal lit his cigar, took another sip of coffee, and leaned forward on the table with the cigar in the corner of his mouth. "I just got through with the briefing on our next assignment. We've got less than three days to make it come together. That means no trial run and no room for error."

"Which means it's not recon," Boston mumbled into his hand.

"And it explains why you're getting us up in the middle of the night to do this little powwow," Face added.

Hannibal continued steadily. "Somebody somewhere fucked up and gave a VC plant access to a whole lot of classified Agency information, including the names of two hundred fifty-some of our assets and informants. Now they need us to make this problem go away. In three days, a man by the name of Anh Dung Phan has a meeting with an NVA general, during which he will hand over these names and blow their cover straight to hell. I don't have to tell you what this will mean for them."

He locked eyes briefly with Cruiser, who muttered a quiet, "Great," as he opened the folder.

"Why three days?" Boston asked. "Why not right the hell now? That seems like pretty important information to put on the shelf for three days."

"Because said NVA general does not seem to think it's all that important. But he _will _change his mind once he sees it, and figures out what it is."

"Two hundred fifty people is a shitload of informants and assets," Face said quietly. "Every one of those might take weeks or months to turn and god knows how much money."

"How would you know?" BA challenged, looking him up and down.

Face stared back. "Because I used to negotiate with them to get them to turn."

"Enough," Hannibal interrupted, before either of them could get riled. He didn't need that right now.

Boston frowned deeply. "Sounds like whatever asshole gave a potential VC plant access to that kind of information needs to be drug out into the street and shot."

Cruiser dropped the folder back to the table and looked at Hannibal. "So what's the deal? We find this guy and what? Shoot him? Why do they need us for that?"

Hannibal's tone was cold and filled with disgust. "Phan is currently hiding _with_ the folders - and yes, he apparently waltzed right out of Agency HQ with them - in a small village of about fifty people." The sarcasm and anger drained from his voice. In its place was something emotionless and serious. Just as plain as if he were reciting words off of a paper. "And at this point, all fifty of them are a potential threat. Any and all of them have had access to that information. And we have to make that threat go away or risk losing 250 of our own."

"So bomb it." Face shrugged. "Again. Why do they need us?"

"They can't bomb it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not as guaranteed to be efficient."

The hush that settled over the room was eerie. Finally, it was Cruiser who spoke. "The hell'd you just say?"

"Efficient," Face repeated coldly. "They need a more efficient way to kill fifty civilians?"

"I ain't killin' no kids," BA said. His fists were clenched, jaw tight.

Hannibal's tone remained cold, calmer now. The anger was still there, but now wasn't the time for it. "The village is a known VC breeding ground. And that folder has probably circulated to every person in it. Right now they're human shields. At any time they can be turned into human weapons."

"You can't be serious," Cruiser said with a humorless laugh.

"I'm very serious. We have no idea how many copies of that list have already been made. We _do_ know that if it gets into the hands of the NVA, it will mean the slaughter of a lot of people who've put everything on the line to help us. Them, their families, their villages, and anyone they care about. We all know what Charlie does to informants."

Finally the shock started to wear off and Cruiser ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "What the fuck, man?"

"I'll be flat out honest with you," Hannibal continued coldly. "I hate this. It leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. But the thought of just letting it run its course is worse."

He clenched his jaw as he finished. He had nothing more to say. What else could he say? Finally, Cruiser spun on his heel, the full ramifications of what he'd just been ordered to do finally hitting him. "The fuck they want us to do? This problem doesn't end with one village!"

"We ain't Charlie," BA said, louder this time. "And I ain't killin' no kids."

Hannibal's anger came out in a rush that he almost couldn't control, and it just happened to come out at BA. "No, we're _not _Charlie!" He hit the table with both fists. "And we're _not _going to just stand by and watch and turn over the people who have trusted us to keep them safe to keep our own fucking moral codes intact!"

BA took a step towards Hannibal, fury in his eyes. "My moral code says I ain't killin' no kids!" Hannibal knew BA's reputation for belting officers. Hell, they all knew his reputation. Still, in the two weeks he had been with the team, this was the first time he had seen any hint of that angry violence. It was a terrifying thing of beauty. If he cared that he was yelling in his CO's face, he didn't show it. He moved until he was on the other side of the table, grabbing it tight. "It ain't right an' everyone here knows it."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed at him. "Kids are _going _to die. Period. You have orders soldier, and that puts you _right _in the middle of it." He hated the words coming out of his own mouth. He hated them with a deep and burning passion. They gave his men an excuse, if they wanted to believe them. But they did nothing to ease his own conscience, and that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he considered the fact that there was _no _outcome to this scenario that wasn't horrific.

"Kids are going to die and that's going to be on your conscience for the rest of your life," Hannibal growled. "Your only choice in this matter is whether it's going to be the kids who trust us to protect them and their families, or the kids who will shoot at us when their hands are big enough to wrap around the grip of a gun."

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it!" Cruiser yelled, his eyes flashing with anger. "You wanna find a way to convince yourself it's okay, that's fine. But I'm not buying it."

"It's not fine Cruiser! But it's your goddamn orders!"

"Then _fuck _my orders, Colonel! Orders that violate the fucking terms of warfare are _supposed_ to be ignored!"

Hannibal looked at him, eyes dead and cold. "I won't force you," he said low. "You go right ahead and go back to sleep, Cruiser. Pretend like you're not as guilty as I am – as we _all _are in this war. But one way or another, people _will _die. And I'm not going to stand by and let it be our own."

Cruiser took a step in close, his voice low. "Don't you even try to pull that bullshit."

Without warning, BA suddenly grabbed the table and turned it upside down. Hannibal barely had time to avoid its path. "It ain't right!" he yelled. "And you know it."

Hannibal stepped up, right into BA. He wouldn't – _couldn't _– stand for this on his team. "Stand the _fuck _down, Sergeant, before I have you court marshalled!"

"Like I could be for killing a bunch of kids?" BA asked staring back at Hannibal. His voice was lower but his body poised for a fight.

"You have orders, soldier. And you know where I stand."

"I gotta problem with these orders," BA growled.

** "**Well, so do I. But if you're asking me to discard them, you have another thing coming. Not because of a court martial or because of some Agency dickhead who wants to breathe a sigh of relief. But because when someone is willing to put their life and their entire family on the line for us, we have a responsibility to keep them safe. No matter what it takes!"

"You don't know that this will keep them safe," Cruiser yelled.

Hannibal turned and looked straight at him. "I _do _know that if we do nothing it will mean their death."

"Fuck!" Cruiser spun on his heel and paced a few steps, then looked back. "You can't tell me that this will spare any lives and you can't tell me we won't be killing innocent people! What the hell do you expect us to do with that? Kill every VC out there? What the fuck do you think this whole goddamn war is about?"

Hannibal stared straight at Cruiser. "I don't think it really matters what this war is about, Cruiser. Bottom line is the same. They kill us and we kill them. The fact that they play by a different set of rules, that they would choose to arm their women and children and send them to the front lines may change the way we _feel _about it but it doesn't change the nature of war."

"You know something?"

The unexpected voice, this time from Face, made all of them turn. He and Boston had been sitting off to the side, quietly watching. Now, as Face finally spoke, he was reflective, and perfectly casual.

"You're really good." He took another long drag off of his cigarette. "You can turn all this bullshit around and make it sound like we're doing some kind of noble deed. But put all that bullshit aside and BA's right. We could all be court marshalled for this. And shit always rolls downhill."

"What's your point, Lieutenant?" Hannibal asked coldly.

Face looked up and met his eyes with an icy, emotionless look. "Just because I've lost the ability to have a moral dilemma over this doesn't mean I enjoy watching other people go through theirs. The VC are going to massacre 250 of our people and everyone they know and talk to. If they're lucky it will be a quick death, but we all know they won't be." He paused, and the conversational tone entered back into his speech again. "So when did we start feeling that killing children was our moral responsibility?"

The silence lingered for a long moment. Finally, Hannibal sighed. "I am not going to force any one of you to do this. But I have orders and if I _hate _them, I still recognize why they were given. And whoever fucked up to make those orders necessary, and whatever we could've, should've, would've done to keep them from being necessary, that all means nothing. They are necessary. Like it or not. And I will carry them out. And I'll do it on my own if I have to."

"What is this," Cruiser snarled, "some fucking guilt trip?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Just the facts, Cruiser. You have orders. Disobey them and I won't blame you. You'll be justified. But I have orders, too. And I will follow them."

After a long moment, Cruiser finally tore his eyes away from Hannibal and ran his hands over his head. "This is fucked up, man." He spoke to no one in particular, but the fire was gone from his voice. Acceptance was slowly setting in. This was really happening. The fact that they were unfortunate enough to witness it was almost inconsequential. The events had been set in motion. One way or another, innocent people were going to die. Lots of them.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal didn't knock. He didn't acknowledge the secretary who stood to greet him, or the warnings that he couldn't go into the office unannounced. He didn't care that he was covered in blood spatter, hands stained red with blood. It was more than skin deep. He could feel that stain on the very core of his being. And he knew the moment he'd felt it touch his skin that it would never be gone.

He shoved the door open, and ignored the startled look of the man behind the desk. "What is this?"

It took a moment longer - after his immediate and instinctive response - for him to realize that Hannibal was covered in blood and carrying a loaded rifle. His eyes widened noticeably as the sight registered, and Hannibal took three quick steps to his desk before heaving the small pack he was carrying onto the desk, ripping it open, and spilling the contents in front of the man. A dozen blood-soaked, handmade dolls and toys dropped onto his paperwork and overflowed into his lap. He jumped back so far and so fast he tipped his chair over backwards.

"A few souvenirs," Hannibal growled through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing hatred.

He reached deeper into the bag, for the folder that had gotten caught. It too was covered in fresh, red blood. As he threw it on the desk, the contents scattered everywhere. "And if you didn't learn anything from this about letting the VC into your classified files, then next time _don't _call me. Because once I walk out of this office, if I ever see your face again, I will shoot you dead."

The man stood gaping at him, eyes wide, unable to speak. With pure hate in his tone and every movement he made, Hannibal grabbed one of the dolls with string hair and button eyes and threw it as hard as he could at the man's chest. "This is on you!" he yelled. "These are the children whose lives your fuck up cost! Your goddamn poor judgment was paid for in the blood of women and children!"

He threw his pack on the floor and leaned on the desk with both arms. "And I hope you never sleep another night without knowing that in spite of your three piece suit and your manicured nails, you're a fucking cold-blooded murderer. You just don't have the _balls _to pull your own goddamn trigger."

Still, the man said nothing. Staring at him with wide, horrified eyes, he was too dumbfounded to react at all. Furious, and not adequately vindicated, Hannibal swept his arm across the desk, dumping the contents onto the floor. Then he spun and walked to the door where the secretary was standing with a similar shocked expression. Almost out of the room, Hannibal turned back.

"By the way," he snarled. "We used AK-47s so that no one would trace it back to you. And I _expect _that you will have a team of men on their way within the hour to bury those bodies. _Don't _disappoint me!"

He turned away again, and this time made it to the door before a shaky voice stopped him. "Colonel Smith?"

He spun quickly, and his eyes locked hard on the man - as if he could kill him with that glare alone. "What?"

A long hesitation, then the man finally cleared his throat. "Thank you."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed into slits. "Fuck you. I'm a soldier, I don't do this for gratitude. And I'm not a goddamn murderer for hire. Don't you _ever _forget that!"

Without another word, he turned and walked away, pushing his way out of the door, and out of the office.


	6. Chapter Five

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**1982**

The police chief's office was neat and orderly. He smiled as Suzanne walked into the room, and rose to offer her a hand. "Miss Davids, very nice to meet you."

Suzanne took the offered hand with a confident smile and a firm handshake. "And you."

He gestured to the chair across the desk from him. "Please, sit down."

She gracefully took a seat in the chair indicated, smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs; tactfully ignoring the way his eyes lingered on her. "Chief Tomlin, thank you for taking the time to see me today. The CIA appreciates your willingness to meet with us."

"My pleasure. What can I do for you?"

Her eyes were on his, even while she noted and categorized everything about the man and the office. Thanks to a little bit of research on her part, she knew the chief was an avid fisherman and hunter. The stuffed and mounted animal heads in his office attested to that. She knew a few other things, too, but at the moment they could wait.

She opened her briefcase. "I don't want to waste your time so I'll get right to the point." Pulling the wanted poster of Smith out of the briefcase, she set it on his desk, facing Tomlin. "Are you familiar with this man?" She tapped a red tipped nail on Smith's face.

Tomlin studied the photo for a moment. "Can't say that I am. Who is he?"

"Colonel John 'Hannibal' Smith." She tapped the photo with each name. "He's been wanted by the military for over ten years now."

Tomlin nodded slowly. "I see."

She leaned back a little, and folded her hands in to her lap. "We have credible information that puts him in your jurisdiction. As such we are looking for your cooperation in apprehending him."

"You're with the military?" he asked, confused.

She smiled politely. "No. We're looking for him on an unrelated matter."

Tomlin gave a half shrug at that. "Oh. Well, I certainly won't stand in your way, Miss Davids. You catch him, he's yours."

Suzanne smiled. Nothing in her expression or manner showed any uncertainty or annoyance at the chief's attempt to dismiss her request. "No, Chief Tomlin, you won't stand in my way. That's a given. What we are asking for is your cooperation and assistance."

He raised a brow at her and shook his head slightly, confused. "I'm not sure I understand what you're asking."

"Cooperation. As in acting together for a common goal or benefit. And the way I see it, Chief, we could both benefit here."

He studied her warily, saying nothing.

"Bringing in a dangerous murderer will look nice on your record, especially when the time comes to find a new police commissioner. And I would get my man. It's win-win."

She pulled out her cigarettes and lit one as she waited for the chief's reply with infinite patience. Finally, he gave her a polite smile. "I would love to see you catch this man, Miss Davids. But as far as devoting this department's time and resources to that goal, I'm afraid I'm going to need a little more than that."

Dragging deep and exhaling, Suzanne's smile grew wider as her eyes grew harder. "Just so I can be clear, are you refusing to offer manpower, resources and or assistance in the apprehension of a known murderer and dangerous fugitive who is operating in your jurisdiction and risking the lives of those people who you have sworn to protect and serve?"

His brow furrowed, and he continued a bit more defensive. "Miss Davids, it is my duty to protect and serve this _entire _city, and to allocate resources accordingly. Depending on what you're asking for, I might be able to free up a few men. But I'm not about to put this entire department into a frenzy over some guy your 'credible information' says is probably in my city."

"I've seen the photos of what Smith can do. Trust me, your entire city would be served to use every resource you could beg, borrow or steal to get him behind bars forever." There was no smile as she took another drag and leaned forward, tapping her ashes into the ash tray on his desk.

He chuckled quietly. "I'm afraid that's not your call, Miss Davids."

She finished her cigarette, then crushed it out as she gave him a feral smile. "These may change your mind, Chief," she said as she reached into her briefcase. She pulled out a folder and laid it open on his desk. Inside the folder was a copy of a tax return and some photos. "I am by no means a tax attorney, but I'm pretty sure that your bass boat and all of the "hanky panky" that you keep at your mistress' place won't qualify as business expense. Oh, and Chief? Doing that," she indicated to the photo, "in public can get you arrested."

She glanced briefly at the photo of his wife and three kids before looking back at him, waiting. His eyes were the size of saucers, jaw dropped.

"This is what I found with just a couple hours of research. Imagine what the full resources of the CIA could uncover." She was leaning back again, hands in her lap, completely relaxed to the casual observer. "We may be able to figure out how you afford to keep a boat and a mistress on your salary."

She gave him a moment to adjust to his new reality. He stared for a long moment, then looked back up at her. "I... I don't..." He swallowed. "I can't just..."

"Sure you can." Standing up in a fluid motion, she grinned. "And I'm sure you will. Because I won't hesitate to take down you or anyone who stands between me and Smith."

*X*X*X*

Grandiose events – such as they were – always posed a certain amount of inherent danger. Not that the premier of "It Came From the Murky Swamp" was likely to be a blockbuster hit, or that there would be a hell of a lot of people at the premier. The potential risk, while it was there, was worth it.

Acting had always been one of those fun and mindless things – it came naturally – that was a great way to pass the time. But life as a fugitive made it a far more restricted business for him than for most. An actor who couldn't show his face was not in terribly high demand. The only way he was able to continue in show business at all was because he maintained a constant stream of effort – meeting new producers and directors of low budget B movies. That was the only reason he was here. It was the reason why these premiers – unless he had reason to suspect they were more dangerous than normal – were worth the risk.

He spotted the evening's threat a mile away. She had been watching him with fleeting glances and out of the corner of her eye since he'd arrived. Her moderately revealing evening dress, shoulders covered only by the shawl draped over her shoulders for warmth, was meant to help keep attention away from her makeup and wig. It wasn't that she was _bad _at disguises that tipped him off. It was the fact that he was already expecting her to use them after her charade with Mr. Lee. The earlier warning, combined with the fact that he knew the moment her eyes were on him, made her incredibly easy to feel out. The smile and the smell of danger made her even easier to talk to.

"Hi." He offered a hand, and a smile, not hesitating in the least. "John Smith. I don't think we've met."

For her part, Suzanne didn't miss a beat. She had a flirty smile ready for him and, he would bet, a cover story. Suzy liked to be prepared. "No, we haven't." Her voice was pitched several octaves lower than normal and she had a very plausible Georgian accent. "I'm sure I would have remembered someone like you."

There was a slight pause as she ran her eyes over him. She was looking for a gun under the guise of appraising him. He smiled knowingly. Nice. Too bad for her he had his gun well enough concealed. There would be no telltale lumps or breaks in the lines of his tux jacket.

Meeting his eyes again with just the right amount of interest and invitation, she continued quietly. "I'm Kristen Lansfield. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He nodded, smiling broadly and entirely comfortable. "So, Ms. Lansfield, what is your interest in the movie industry? I thought I knew all the beautiful women who would be here tonight, and it seems I missed the most obvious. Are you an actress?"

She gave him a flirtatious, soft laugh. "My, my, aren't you just the most charming man?"

Her hand rested just briefly on his upper arm - a modest but inviting touch. He smiled back at her. "I try."

"Actually, I'm a film critic for the Atlanta Times. The paper decided to spring for a junket to Hollywood for me. This is the first of five premiers I will be lucky enough to attend."

Her eyes were on his, trying to keep him engaged in the conversation and oblivious to the fact that she was holding her little purse just a bit too close and too tight. If he had to guess, that was where her gun was. There sure as hell wasn't any place to hide it under that dress.

"And what does a handsome gentleman like yourself do for a living?"

"I'm an actor," he declared. "The star of this picture, actually."

He beamed. It was laughable really. No lines, and screen time only beneath a bulky costume. But it was always so much fun to see the way that people responded.

Her look turned just a fraction more serious. "Then you must be the man who played 'Gatorrat'." She gestured to the life size cut out of Hollywood's version of a rat mutated into a Louisiana alligator thanks to careless dumping of toxic waste. "Because as with all horror classics, it's the antihero who is truly the star."

He held back the laugh that came reflexively. She thought he was serious. She was playing to his vanity, and doing it with flare.

"Heroes are a dime a dozen," she cooed. "But to be a good villain... that takes a special man."

He chuckled at that. "Right you are, Ms. Lansfield. Though I like to think of him as sort of a tragic figure rather than strictly an antihero." He paused reflectively. "A victim of society, and all that is wrong in the world."

She was smiling again and nodding in agreement. "Oh, I completely agree. Much like Frankenstein, or the Blood Sucking Brain Eaters from Planet K7. Or even the iconic Godzilla." She leaned in a little closer. "A truly developed creature is so hard to find in films nowadays."

Her fingers were lightly touching his forearm, eyes on his. She was looking at him like he was the most talented man in the room. It was a fine line to walk, just the right amount of flattery and professional interest. She was doing a decent job, clearly no rookie to this part of her job. She also knew her 'Creature Feature' movies; Blood Sucking Brain Eaters from Planet K7 was a rarely heard of film. But a true cult classic.

"You must have fascinating insight into both the film and the genre," she said softly.

"You said you're a reporter?" He quickly corrected. "Film critic, excuse me."

"Yes."

He smiled. "I'd be happy to give you a more detailed analysis after the movie. Say, over a glass of wine? I know a nice little bar just up the street; it's very cozy."

The coy smile, the slight drop of her head, the way she looked up at him through her lashes, but still managed a look full of promise and just a hint of hesitancy… It was good. Very good. She was probably thinking she he had him right where she wanted him.

"I really shouldn't, but…" But she would. He could see it in her eyes as she gave his arm a brief squeeze. "Passing up on such a fascinating opportunity would be positively criminal."

He smiled.

Leading her into the theatre when she was hanging on his arm was remarkably easy to do. He stepped into the row first, letting her take the aisle. He'd already located the exits; he knew exactly how many steps it would take him to get there. But for now, he let her feel comfortable through a few more moments of small talk, watching her convincing "I'm relaxed" routine.

She wasn't relaxed. And he knew it. Finally, he leaned closer to her and whispered softly, "You seem nervous."

There was just a fraction of a hint of shock in her expression before she caught herself. Leaning towards him, just close enough that her hair brushed against his shoulder. She gave him her best soft, shy look. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've never had the pleasure of watching a movie while sitting next to the film's star."

He smiled as she dropped her eyes for a second, then looked back up like she was making a confession. Her hand rested lightly on his – not too forward, but a clear signal she was still interested. It also gave her the added bonus of knowing where his hand was. Not a bad plan. Of course, he could get the drop just as easily with one hand if he wanted to. In fact, his other hand was already moving to his waist, carefully, as he distracted her with the movement of his fingers over the back of her hand.

"Is that the only reason?" he asked, his voice low and full of insinuation.

There was a flirtatious implication and a little bit of caution in her soft reply, "Should I have another reason?" Her smile was back to alluring. She was far better at that than she was at "shy."

He smiled back. "Yes, you should. It's not nice to crash somebody's party, you know. And an armed fugitive might not take too kindly to it."

The pistol was in her side before she could gasp, low enough that even someone passing right beside them wouldn't see it. His hand tightened slightly over hers - not hurting, just holding - as he pressed close to her ear.

"Make a sound any louder than a whisper, Ms. Davids, and I may just add a felony to my already impressive rap sheet."

Fighting her natural instinct to pull her head away from him, the coy "Kristen" faded. Shock turned to anger. Her smile slid away and he could feel her body tense. But she very wisely chose stay still, even though it seemed to take a tremendous amount of willpower. It was a couple seconds before she pulled it together enough to figure out how she was going to deal with this curve ball.

She was working to keep her voice claim, trying to make him – or maybe herself – feel like she somehow had more control in the situation then she really did. "It may not be nice, but it will be effective. Besides, _you're_ the one who raised the stakes, Smith. And nice doesn't come into play when I have orders to bring in a killer."

Calm as her voice may have seemed there was no doubt she was mad as hell. He smiled. "Well, your orders take a backseat to my interest in staying alive. At least in my book."

He moved his hand off of hers and inconspicuously grabbed her purse, dropping it onto the floor at their feet. "I assume you're in contact with the four men who are posing as ushers and have been watching us since we walked in. Now you're going to be a good little girl and tell them - and anyone else you have ready to move in - to stand down."

She was so mad he could practically see steam coming off of her. He could see just how badly she wanted to go on the attack, and that she understood just how stupid it would be. "Unless you want me to yell across the theatre," she growled through a clenched jaw, "you're going to have to either let me get close enough to speak to one of them or you can let me use a hand signal. If you're brave enough to let me move my hands."

She was right to ask about moving her hands. He had no way to trust that she would signal them to stand down and not move in. Of course, the latter would be suicide. He considered his options only briefly. "How 'bout you and I just take a walk. Real nice and slow. Up and over to that exit right over there."

He stood slowly and pulled her with him - careful to make it look casual as he slipped a hand underneath her shawl and set it on (the –delete) her back. The touch was too intimate for "just meeting," but it certainly didn't look like force. It was impossible to tell that he was holding a gun, even if she could feel it flat against her spine. With his free hand he gestured for her to go first. "After you, Suzy."

Suzanne had no choice but to move with him. She gave him an entirely fake smile and moved forward hissing quietly to him, "It's Suzanne."

No doubt she was rapidly running though scenarios in her mind, trying to find some way out of her rather sticky situation. But she was smart enough to accept the fact that alerting her escorts to her situation would only lead to a lot of guns being pulled in a room full of unsuspecting, innocent civilians.

They made it through the doors leading out of the theatre and straight outside, emerging around the side of the building. Near his car; how convenient. He turned her as soon as the door closed and shoved her back against the wall, the gun under her chin.

"I have to admit, I'm thrilled with just how enthusiastic you seem to be about catching me. But you must understand why this just isn't a good time for me to cooperate with an arrest."

She growled. "Sorry to inconvenience you."

With his free hand, he frisked her just in case she had managed to hide a gun somewhere. "In any case, I'm afraid I'm going to have to duck out. Such a shame to not be there for my own premier. But I do have my priorities in order."

His hand on her was quick and efficient, everywhere he could get to while keeping the gun steady. He wasn't shy about it, and he didn't linger in any one place; he'd clearly done this before. If she was good, and given the form-fitting dress, she would have it somewhere like the inside of her thigh. He checked there, too, watching her eyes, and paused as his hands touched leather. Sheath. Knife. He gave her an amused smile as he withdrew it, sliding his hand up far higher than what was modest, and brought it up, ticking his tongue on his teeth.

"Now, Suzy, this just isn't nice. What were you planning to do with this? Filet me?"

She snarled at him. "That's the _least _of what I'd like to do to you."

He grinned, and tapped the blade on her collarbone - an almost-casual threat. "Sometime more convenient, we'll have to get together and explore the possibilities."

He saw her tiny shiver and the quick intake of breath as the blade brushed her neck. Hannibal also saw something in her eyes, deep and very hidden, but nonetheless it was there. Excitement. His amused smile grew. So she liked knives…

"As long as we're exploring them from different sides of metal bars," she finally answered. Her voice was low and serious, but a little too breathy. Her eyes flicked to the knife and then back to him.

"Too bad I have to run. There's a part of me that would definitely like to see how good you are with this thing."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Oh, I am very, very good with it." She clearly meant it as a threat, but it rang a bit hollow.

He smiled, and leaned in closer to whisper in her ear. "So am I. Remember that next time."

He pulled away suddenly, taking the knife and the gun with him a few steps back. Then, with a smile, he turned and bolted for the parking lot. It would take her a minute to mobilize the men inside. By then, he'd already be driving away. Of course, he expected her to follow. She'd damn well better follow. It just wouldn't be any fun if she gave up that easy.


	7. Chapter Six

**CHAPTER**** SIX**

Face checked his reflection in the mirror once more, straightening his tie, and flicked a glance towards the clock on the wall before he grabbed his keys. He had more than enough time to get out to Pasadena and be in no rush at all. He was almost to the door when the phone rang, and he eyed it for a long moment. Should he answer it? Chances were it was not for him. And if it was, it probably wasn't good. He sighed as he turned and walked to the phone, picking it up with another glance at the clock.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Face, how's it going?"

Face almost groaned at the voice. That misleading, overly casual pleasantry had lost it's welcome years ago. Great. Whatever plans he'd had for the evening - Charlene - he may as well throw out the window now. "I was a lot better before you called."

Hannibal chuckled. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in a little evening car chase."

"Not in the slightest." Not that it mattered. A car chase was easier and less time consuming than a jail break.

"Aw, come on, Lieutenant, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Tucked safely under my pillow where it belongs."

"Well, maybe you'd like to bring it out to play. Unless, of course, you'd feel more comfortable arranging for my release _after _I'm arrested by Suzy Sunshine from the CIA, and her uncanny number of police officers."

Face raised his brow, almost amused by the turn of events. "So walking away went well, I see."

Words like "uncanny number of police officers" were a warning. There were too many variables to even start trying to formulate a contingency plan. Granted, it sounded as though Face _was _the contingency plan.

"How long will it take you to get to West Hollywood?"

The static on the phone made Face frown. He had to be on the phone in his car. Which meant he was already engaged in this car chase with an "uncanny number of police officers." He sighed.

"West Hollywood?" There was going to be traffic on the city roads. It was Friday night. Not the best place to be having a car chase. "Fifteen minutes or so."

"Great."

He needed to get off this phone. No sense in standing here and talking when he could be on his way. "I'll call you back."

Not waiting for a reply, Face hung up. Keys already in hand, he grabbed his gun and was out the door within a few seconds.

*X*X*X*

_Damn it!_

Anger, adrenaline, and cold hard fury were pounding in Suzanne's veins. That arrogant son of a bitch. She'd been yelling for her backup to move in just as soon as he ran. She opened the door to yell for them, but stayed where she was to keep him in sight, see what car he took. How many man hours had she spent setting this up? And he thought he was just going to waltz out?

Within seconds, all eight of her backup had swarmed her position. In those brief seconds she managed to calm down enough to actually speak. She snagged the first man who ran through the side door, grabbing him by the collar. "Keys!" she demanded. "Now!"

The young man was so shocked, he handed her keys over before without a word and pointed to the four door unmarked sedan. She was running for the car by the time Smith came shooting out of the parking lot across the street, tires squealing and spitting gravel.

"Follow him!" she yelled.

By the time she made it to the car - running in that dress slowed her some, even though she'd kicked off the heels – and got the door open and engine running, two of the backup cars were ahead of her... That left one behind. Hitting the bubblegum light on the dash, she went screaming down the street after him.

The faster she drove, the calmer she was. She knew how to do this; she could control this. Her heart was pounding; every sense was on high alert. Smith was _not _getting away. She had him in her sites and there wasn't a chance in hell she was letting him get away.

Barely touching the brakes she took the turn fast - so fast the rear of the car kicked out. No problem, no panic. She was a damn good driver. The faster they went, the more screaming turns they took, the more control she felt. The rush was thrilling and familiar and strangely comforting. She was in her element, as Smith would soon find out.

Six days of planning, dozens of man hours, hundreds of dollars in pay for the police backup. She watched as one of the squad cars – unable to make the turn up ahead and trapped between oncoming traffic and a wall – tried and failed to screech to a stop before plowing into the back of a parked car. She swore under her breath. Great. Add to that tab the cost of replacing a squad car.

How in the hell had he pulled it off? A scream of frustration rose up in her throat as she ripped the wig off her head. He had known from the start it was her; he must have. It was all just a game to him. Some sort of sick form of amusement. The guns, the CIA, the bodies of those villagers, her… all just a damn joke to him. For just a second she closed her eyes, the images from his file playing over her memories.

She needed to get her shit together. No matter what he thought, how funny he thought this was, she _was_ going to haul him in. His crimes had gone unpunished for too damn long. Smith needed to be stopped, and he needed to pay. Setting her jaw and staring at the street he disappeared down, she pressed harder on the gas. She would be the person who finally brought in Hannibal Smith. She would do it if it killed her.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal had expected her to give chase. But he hadn't expected she'd be quite so good at it. It was easy enough to maneuver the cop cars into wrecks. It was a bit harder to ditch her. She was on his tail, way ahead of the remaining cop cars.

He grinned as he adjusted the rearview mirror, then peeled around the corner, off to the side. His biggest enemy right now was main roads. On a Friday night, they would be packed. The freeways wouldn't necessarily be much better. But he knew the back roads of this city - which ones dead ended into nowhere, which ones went through - like the back of his hand. It was a necessity for survival, and he'd learned it well.

He watched her in the mirror as much as he watched the road. She was confident, he'd give her that. She knew how to handle herself. Leading her through the back roads, in and out of turns that no ordinary citizen should know about, she kept up with him when the others couldn't. He was going to have to get creative if he wanted to shake her…

Around another corner, and down the alley, he just barely had enough time to hit his brakes as he suddenly found himself blocked in - not by any wrong turn, but by four cop cars angled in his direction. He screeched to a stop when a quick check of his surroundings couldn't give him a clear path past them, or through them. He had room to go around them, but without a distraction, that was almost certain to get his car – if not _him _– shot up.

As if on cue, the phone in the car rang, only once before he answered it. "Hello?"

"Alright, where exactly are you?"

Hannibal chuckled. Right now, I am staring down the barrels of ten 9-mm pistols wielded by the occupants from four squad cars on –" He did a quick mental check. "3rd and Harvard. Or somewhere around there." His tone was completely casual in spite of the situation he was describing. "You don't by any chance have a weapon with you, do you?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot rule number of staying out of jail: always pack your weapon."

"No, I mean a big one. Big enough to make a distraction."

"Are you kidding?" Face sounded irritated. "Where would I have it, in my back pocket? You didn't exactly give me time to prepare for this!"

Hannibal could hear the tires squeal through the phone. "Well, I need a distraction. I've got enough space to get around them. But I don't want them shooting out my tires when I try."

"Throw your keys out of the car and come out slowly with your hands up!"

Hannibal grinned. "Of course the better diversion might also involve taking out their vehicles."

"What?" Face cried. "How the hell am I supposed to create a diversion big enough to attract the attention of ten cops when I have no time to –"

"Oh, I'm sure you can think of something, Face. They're facing south, by the way. If you come west up 3rd, you'll run _right_ into them."

Face growled audibly. "You owe me for this, you know that?"

"Thanks, Face. I knew I could count on you."

Face slammed the phone down just as the cop yelled across the open space at him. "I repeat, throw your keys out of the car and come out slowly with your hands up!"

Hannibal saw the car turn down the street. He saw it because he was looking for it. The cops didn't see it. He readied - not turning the wheels yet, not giving them any indication he was about to move. But he was ready. Face gunned it and laid on the horn to make sure the cops turned their attention to him and didn't start opening fire on Hannibal. Hannibal's tires screeched on the pavement as the cops barely managed to scatter out of the way. Why the hell did it take them so long to figure out that he wasn't stopping?

Face bailed out of the car, rolling on the pavement, before it hit. Hannibal pulled up right beside him as he staggered to his feet. The cops were shooting at the car as it plowed in between their cruisers and scattered them every which way. As soon as Face was in the passenger seat, before the door was even closed, Hannibal was off again. The cars that were just arriving for backup swerved out of the way as he plowed through and weaved around them.

"I hope you're happy," Face snapped as he pulled the seatbelt across his chest. "And that you know I will _never _do that for you again."

"Oh, you were wanting a new car anyways, Lieutenant. You've been talking about it for months."

"And that's the _only _reason I did it this time!" Face was glaring daggers at him. "And even so, that's not the way I would've liked to part with that one."

"Relax, Face." He watched in the rear view mirror, only mildly surprised that Suzanne hadn't given up the chase. "Think of it as motivation, a step in the right direction."

Face just glared, then turned to look over the seat at their pursuer. "You sure know how to pick 'em, Hannibal. You ever thinking of ending a night with some roses?"

Hannibal grinned as he whipped around the corner and narrowly avoided the oncoming cars as he headed back in the general direction of Hollywood. She stayed on his tail, and his smile fell as he watched her in the mirror. "Hey, uh, Face? Do you suppose you might be able to do anything to deter our friend back there?"

"I thought you were enjoying this."

"Oh, I am. But right about now I figure she's got to be calling for backup. And if she gets it," he grinned, "we don't currently have another car to use as a distraction."

"Not going to call BA into this mess?" Face asked bitterly.

Hannibal didn't answer.

Face pushed himself up in the seat again and rolled the window down turning so that he was facing the back of the car. He aimed the gun down at her tires, waiting to fire until hannibal swerved the car so that he had a clear shot. It took a few shots that went nowhere when she swerved out of the way. Hannibal slowed to close the distance, Face braced himself against the dash, and finally a shot hit home. Face turned back and closed the window as her tire blew out as she swerved to a reluctant and abrupt stop – right into one of the other cars parked on the road.

"Now." Face tucked the gun away again and frowned deeply as he raked his fingers through his hair and tried to straighten out his sleeves. Rolling out of a moving vehicle did no favors to his ensemble. "If you can kindly drop me at 2305 Southeast Merlin St., I have a date to keep."

Hannibal smiled, and watched the road in front of him as he slowed to a normal, unremarkable pace. Showing up at the movie premier had style. He could only imagine what her next move would be.


	8. Chapter Seven

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The police in this city were incompetent. There was not enough anger in the world that could have expressed just how Suzanne felt about their complete and total inability to corner off one fugitive target in an old Cadillac. It wasn't like he'd been on a motorcycle. There was no excuse, and the police chief hadn't even tried to give her one. He simply apologized and asked what was next.

Suzanne left the police station still seething.

All the way to her car and into the driver's seat where she tossed her purse on the passenger seat before putting the key in the ignition. She was almost to the freeway when a sound from the seat behind her made her glance in the rearview mirror just at the same instant she felt the barrel of a pistol press up under the side of her neck, pointed towards her skull. "Hello Suzy."

The jolt that ran down her spine made every muscle in her body tense. He wasn't supposed to be in her car. He was supposed to be on the road, being chased by the police. How the hell had he ended up in her car?

"Why don't you drive us down towards Long Beach, Suzy?" His voice was cold and flat, and it clearly wasn't a question. "We need a quiet place to talk."

She kept her hands on the wheel, flexing them a few times, trying to force herself to relax. If he wanted to kill her, he could've already done it. She flinched as the gun dug into her neck. The man was a cold blooded killer. She had no reason to believe he wouldn't kill her just as soon as they stopped. But what choice did she have? She was on the freeway. She could crash the car, but until she knew what he was planning, she wasn't going to take that kind of risk. She needed to get him talking.

"Make sure you keep both hands on the steering wheel," he ordered. "Just like they taught you in driver's training."

She fought the urge to pull her head away from the gun. "Do you always need a gun to get people to listen to you talk?"

"You were the one who set the mood for our relationship, Suzy."

She glared at the road. "It's Suzanne. And I'm never sure what tone to set when dealing with a sanctimonious murder."

He didn't answer. He didn't speak at all, in fact, except to guide her on one freeway or the next. The longer the silence stretched, the more uncomfortable she became. Her anger was receding, leaving her with the uncomfortable fact that a very dangerous man had a gun held to her neck and was forcing her to drive far away from anyone who could help. It took an effort to maintain her air of calm as he directed her off the freeway and down a long road that dead ended into a wide open, shaded park. There was a lighthouse, an just beyond it a sharp drop to the vast expanse of the ocean.

"Alright, Suzy. Very slowly now, I want you to hand me your gun, then get out of the car. And keep your hands where I can see them."

She hated the thought of giving up her gun. But she still had a back up piece tucked into the small of her back, hidden by her blazer. Hesitantly, she removed the pistol from her shoulder holster with just her index finger and thumb and handed it to Smith. Damn him... She could get into a lot of trouble for losing her side arm.

She was determined not to let him see her fear as she carefully opened the car door and stood up, keeping her hands open at her sides. At least in the open, she could put up a fight. There were a row of houses across the street. It was entirely possible someone would hear her if she screamed. And entirely possible he could shoot her if she tried.

He followed behind her, stepping comfortably out of the car. For the first time, she caught a glimpse of his eyes, dark and cold. "I'll let you keep the backup gun. I don't expect that you'll need it." He gestured to one of the cement picnic tables. "Shall we sit?"

She stared at him. "Great, a criminal with manners. How nice."

Her eyes swept the empty park, noting with a detached eye that it was beautiful. Her pace was slow as she took the first step towards that table. She wanted him to come in close. He obliged her almost immediately.

She took in a deep breath as she gauged his distance, then suddenly whipped around, grabbing his wrist where it held the gun, forcing it down and stepping off to his side. Shoulder to shoulder, she pressed her body weight onto his wrist, twisting until she felt his grip break. He let her have the gun. His hand went to her back and pulled hers, completely confident that it would be there even thought there was no way he could've possibly seen it. As she put his gun to his chest, he had hers against her temple.

For a moment, they stared at each other, caught in the stalemate as the silence stretched. Finally, he continued ever-so-politely, "About that friendly conversation."

"You have a very strange definition of 'friendly,' Smith."

"I was being friendly. I even let you keep your weapon. You're the one who's been going through all the trouble to get an audience with me. This time I'll save you the effort."

"Correction, Smith. I'm going through all this trouble to get an 'audience' with you for my employer." Her eyes hardened. "I would be just as happy to shoot you and drag your carcass to the Army."

"Maybe. But your employer might have a bit of an issue with that. And that's _if_ you made it back to him alive."

"My employer would understand a few extra holes here and there. After all, you have quite the reputation, Mr. Smith."

"You're not fooling anyone with that gun, Suzy. And I have no plans to shoot you. So why don't we both put the guns away?"

"It's Suzanne," she said automatically. For God's sake was it that hard to remember? "Tell you what, since your being so nice how about you put your gun away first?"

He smiled politely. "My gun's in your hand."

She stared at him for a long moment. She had to think of an answer to that. "Alright, funny guy, I'll use little words so you can understand. If you want to talk, then put the gun down. Simple." Even he should be able to follow that.

He set the gun on the hood of the car, out of her reach. No matter how hard she tried, Suzanne was sure some of the shock made it to her expression. Quickly recovering her composure, she went through her options. Of all the things she had expected, him putting down the gun wasn't one of them. Of course, it was no secret that he had a backup, and shooting him really wouldn't get her any closer to her mission objective.

He leaned back on the car, arms crossed loosely over his chest, waiting for her move with an emotionless expression. She took a step back, holding the gun on him for a moment. Then, finally, she set it on the hood of the car, just at the edge of her reach.

His smile fell completely as she crossed her arms over her chest and watched him expectantly. He'd carjacked her. Clearly he had something to say.

"We need to clear something up, for the record," he said coldly. He turned to face her. "I understand that you're under orders. And I can see from the fact that you're getting the police involved that you have every intention of fulfilling them. But before we go and make this personal, you need to understand something about me."

She glared back at him. "I understand you just fine."

"I was working for your bosses before you were potty trained. And I had a lot of orders from them as well – orders that I fulfilled. Whatever you think you know about me, you need to keep that in mind."

"I know all about your orders, Smith. I've seen the photos of how you fulfilled your 'orders' at Linh Hu Nao."

He frowned deeply, but didn't speak.

"You massacred every man, woman, and child in that village," she accused. "So yes. You can be damn sure I will fulfill my orders and bring you in. I'm just sorry I won't be able to drag you off to the MPs so they can lock you and your whole damn team up in the stockade. Or better yet, haul you in front of the firing squad."

He nodded slowly. Then, he reached into his pocket, noticing but not caring when her fingers rested again on her gun. He pulled out his wallet, and a small piece of paper, holding it up for her to see. "Ever seen that one?" he asked, his voice ice cold.

Her eyes looked quickly at the well worn black and white photo of a small crowd of asian-looking children who'd posed for a group shot with two very tired looking women on either side. One of the women was holding an infant in her arms. She took it in quickly and then looked back up at him. "What, Smith, you carry pictures of your kills, so you can relive the thrill of murdering them?" Her hand tightened on the gun.

"Look again, Suzanne," he said coldly. "You see that building they're standing in front of? That's an orphanage. You see those shoes on their feet? The toys they're holding? We _bought _those."

"That's very noble of you. But putting shoes on a kid's feet doesn't make up for the fact that you murdered another."

He shook his head. "You know, Suzy –"

"Suzanne!"

"Whatever. Sometimes you're really dense." He put the photo back into his wallet, where it clearly belonged. "You really want to know what happened in that village? You go track down any one of those children and they'll tell you exactly how horrible and vicious it was. But they're alive to tell it. And that's because I _disobeyed_ my orders."

Disobeyed orders? She stared at him for a long moment, her mind flickering back to the photos she'd looked at over and over and over. Blood and carnage and destruction. There was nothing in the record about survivors. Of course, there was nothing in the record about orders to kill everyone in that village, either. What the hell was he trying to pull?

"I don't know what your bosses want with me," he said as he put his wallet back, "and I don't care. If you've seen my file, you know that this isn't the only assignment we had words about. I'm not interested in working, meeting, or talking with _anyone _involved in your department."

"Even if – and I do say _if _– you didn't those kids, you still killed the others. How can you even pretend that was anything but murder?"

He raised a brow, challengingly. "Are you to stand there and tell me that you've had a good moral reason to take down every target they've sent you after?"

"They didn't send you after those civilians."

His eyes narrowed at her. "Alright, Suzy. Maybe you _are _just a go-fer. How many years have you had out in the field, anyways?"

She stiffened at the jab that hit just a little too close to home. "I have enough experience that they sent me after you, Smith."

He smiled. "I'm flattered."

"That snapshot doesn't change a damn thing. I have my orders. You don't want to work for them, fine. You can tell them that yourself, because I am going to bring you in for the meeting."

"I understand. Though you will, of course, understand that I'm not going to go quietly."

Suzanne gave her own vicious little smile. "Trust me, Mr. Smith, I don't care if you go quietly, screaming, or feet first. But mark my words, you _will_ be going."

"We'll see." He smiled, grabbed her gun off the hood of the car and held it out, grip towards her, waiting for her to do the same so they could exchange. "Shall we call this a neutral meeting just this once? Since it would be a shame to disappoint your friends at the police department by arresting me without their help after all."

She stared for a long moment at the offered gun and then at him. It wasn't terribly hard to make up her mind. Carefully, she gripped his gun and held it out butt first as she took hers. "Fine," she agreed. "This is a neutral meeting."

He let go of her pistol, completing the exchange, and she walked around him towards the driver's side door. She was careful never to show her back to him, never to take her eyes off him as she slipped into the car and started the engine. "You're on your own for getting out of here."

He smiled, not upset by that in the least.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. Smith."

He smiled and waved his fingers loosely at her. "I'll be looking forward to it."


	9. Chapter Eight

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

BA spotted Hannibal well before the kids at the Day Center had a chance to. When Hannibal wanted to get a hold of him, he knew right where to find him. The Day Center was one of those hangouts that they were all just waiting for someone – namely Lynch – to pounce on. But so far, he'd kept his distance. He knew about it. He'd been by a number of times and had even talked to the kids. But it was amazing just how much street kids _didn't _trust police of any kind, and how much they'd neglect to mention when someone started asking questions about one of their friends.

They were all eyeing Hannibal warily as he stepped into the gated yard, and casually made his way to the rickety wooden bleachers – hastily and cheaply constructed a few summers ago on the side of the dirt baseball field.

Wary eyes followed him. BA kept his eyes and his attention on the kids, even as his mind went through the limited number of reasons why Hannibal would come here looking for him. Hannibal wasn't interrupting him, so it wasn't critical. But he had also chosen to come here instead of just calling, so it was more important than a run-of-the-mill mission. Whatever it was, BA had a feeling it wasn't good.

BA spent a moment to try for the tenth time to show one of the kids how to hold a baseball bat. It was hard to believe just how difficult this concept seemed to be. Harder still to believe that BA had such unending patience for it. But it was a kid. That made all the difference in his mind.

Leaving the bat in the kid's hands, BA spoke to the tallest in the group. Juan was fourteen, and tall for his age. More important, he had a good understanding of the game, and how to be a role model for the younger kids. "Okay kids, Juan is gonna throw some balls, shirts are gonna bat and skins are gonna field, then we switch. Got it?"

There was the normal amount of laughter and shoving as the kids sorted out where they needed to be. BA headed for the bleachers.

Something about Hannibal's presence had him frowning a little more than normal as he sat down, still watching the kids. "No shovin' Dante!"

Dante looked suitably abashed and headed for left field. BA watched him, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Sarah hit a line drive. For an eight-year-old, she had a heck of a swing.

"We might have a little problem," Hannibal said, low and calm. "It's not critical, but I wanted you to be aware. To hear it from me."

Suddenly, all of BA's attention was on Hannibal. It wasn't his tone of voice or his body language – both of which were calm and assured. BA knew for a fact that appearances had very little to do with what Hannibal was thinking or feeling. The fact was, whatever he was about to say, he felt the need to come and say it in person. BA felt his frown deepen, and his stomach tightened as he waited for Hannibal to speak.

Hannibal leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the kids. "There's a woman with the Agency who's trying to get me to come in and have a chat with her boss. She seems like she's only interested in me, but the mission they want to talk to me about involved all of us. She may come to you."

The hairs on the back of BA's neck stood up as Hannibal glanced sideways at him. His stomach felt like it was full of lead_. _Agency mission. BA had lost any respect for the CIA decades beforehand. The things he had done in their employ were the stuff of his nightmares.

"Which mission?" he asked gruffly, eyes still on Hannibal. There were a number of them it could be.

"Linh Hu Nao."

BA's fists clenched at the name. He recognized it immediately. For a second, the sound of the kids chatting and the crack of the bat seemed to turn to screams of pain and gunshots. He closed his eyes tight and fought against the unwanted memories. It was only a few seconds, but it felt like forever to BA.

"Why they wanna talk about that?" he growled. "They know what happened."

Only handful of people left alive in the world knew what a living hell that day was. But it was all in the report.

"I don't know what they want," Hannibal said quietly. "But I'm not about to go have a friendly discussion over coffee and find out."

There were just too many emotions to deal with. Too many things he didn't want to ever think about, let alone talk to strangers about. What had happened in Lin Hu Nao would follow BA to his grave and into the next world.

"This woman - her name is Suzanne Davids - says they just want to talk. I don't know if she believes that or not, and I certainly don't know if it's the truth or not. But I'm sure you understand why I have no interest in talking about that day."

His hands grabbed the worn wood of the bleacher seat, so tight he could feel splinters embedding in his hands. Good. It was a reminder, an anchor to keep him here in the present.

"So far I've avoided her. She may come to you."  
"I ain't talkin' to no one 'bout that. _Ever_." What he did that day was between him and God, no one else.

"I didn't think you would." Hannibal looked back at the kids. "I just didn't want it to come as a shock if she showed up and started talking about it."

Under all the emotions, questions about why now and what this really meant were floating around BA's head. He wasn't about to talk about it, but just the fact that a CIA spook was digging up the past, looking for something about that day left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"What you gonna do about this?" he demanded. Both of them knew avoiding it was only going to work for so long. The CIA was nothing if not determined.

"I'm not sure yet." Hannibal admitted. "Right now, I'm not quite sure just how invested - or how good - she is. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do with her. If she does come to you," he turned and grinned, "you can always tell her you have amnesia."

BA returned the grin with a grimace, equal parts anger and worry. Something about the grin and glimmer in Hannibal eyes had him shaking his head. "I ain't playing games with the CIA," he said seriously.

"I wouldn't expect you to."

Somehow, he knew that Hannibal would enjoy going a few rounds with them. It was stupid and risky in BA's mind, but Hannibal had more than earned the right to seek his fun where he could.

BA's eyes went to the kids on the field, fumbling a grounder. They were laughing and joking, doing all the thing those other kids never got to know. "Watch your back, Hannibal." It was more than just a statement of the obvious. It was genuine worry and concern. "Nothin' good gonna come from this."

Hannibal nodded. BA watched him for a moment before he hung his head. Without a word, Hannibal stood, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he headed away. BA's eyes followed him. Somewhere in the pit of his being, BA knew he would go to hell and back for that man. He had gone to hell and back. He would do it again. But to make that offer out loud was needless.

Hannibal knew it was there.

***X*X*X***

"I hate to tell you this," Face said, reclining comfortably at the small round table, "but if you want a blow by blow description of where Hannibal spends his time, you're barking up the wrong tree. So I hope you have another reason for interrupting my meeting."

Whether she'd actually known where to find him or this was a more chance encounter, Face couldn't be exactly sure. Given the warning from Hannibal, he suspected the former. But this wasn't the kind of interruption that looked good to a potential investor. He would've preferred that she'd picked a better time.

"I'm sorry for interrupting your meeting," she said with a smile. She leaned forward and crossed her legs smoothly. "I know your time is valuable. In fact I willing to offer you compensation for the loss of business."

Face raised a brow. "That's very accommodating of you." And not at all what he'd expected. What was her angle here?

"I'm just looking to see if there's a chance of coming to a mutually beneficial arrangement with the Colonel."

There was an almost-convincing amount of sincerity in her tone. She could have been flirting with him in the boardroom of a Fortune 500 company. And she wasn't half bad at it. It was clear she'd done this before, and that it had worked well for her the first time – and the second, and maybe the third. She wasn't lacking confidence. Of course, neither was he.

"I like mutually beneficial arrangements." He gave her a full smile, and watched her as he sipped his coffee. "But I can't speak for Hannibal."

There was a full smile from her in return, and her fingers traced the rim of the mug in front of her. "I'm sure we can come to some sort of," she paused and let her eyes rake over him, just short of blatant, "arrangement."

Face chuckled. She could've been a pro. Leaning back, she slowly reached for her purse, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

His smile remained in place as he reached casually for his lighter. "Not at all."

He had the flame ready for her by the time she had her cigarette out. There was just a fraction of a second that she hesitated, before flashing him just the right type of smile and accepting the light. He watched her hesitation, as if for a moment she didn't know what to do with him. She knew the game. She didn't expect him to know it. As he put the lighter back into his pocket he sipped his coffee again.

Her eyes stayed steady on him as she took a slow, steady inhale. "As for the Colonel, I'm not interested in having you speak for him as much as I'm interested in your… opinion of him."

"Anything in particular you'd like my opinion on? Or just in general?" He already knew why she was here. But he was good at this sort of dancing, and in a way, he rather enjoyed it. She was no threat to him right now. In fact, this was probably the best opportunity he would have to get into her head.

She relaxed back in the chair, one arm draped over the back of it, the other (with the cigarette) was playing with the rim of her coffee mug. "How about we start with the general. Then we can see if we can hone in on any specifics."

"He was my commanding officer in 'Nam," Face answered casually, "and I still consider him a close personal friend. I'm sure you've seen enough of my files - or at least of his - to know why we're not on the best of terms with the Army. But I have to say, the CIA is a new one on me. I didn't expect that you had any reason to come after us. Particularly since you normally work in other countries, if I'm not mistaken."

Her smile never faltered. He had given her an answer, now it was her turn. She knew the game, she knew the rules. "I'm not after you." There was just a hint of flirtation in that. She smiled, and paused for a long inhale. She let the smoke out through softly pursed lips before continuing. "And since you were SOG, the CIA isn't an entirely new experience for you."

Face smiled. "The CIA SOG and the Army's SOG were not the same thing."  
"No. But the lines blurred. And the first Special Ops missions, later taken over by Special Forces and SOG were Agency run."

Actually, that wasn't entirely accurate. But that was what her research would reflect. And the point was that she'd _done _the research.

"In any case, I doubt if they were as willing to be as forthright in their exchanges then as I am now." Her hand went to the ashtray and her voice dropped just a fraction. "I'm forced to assume that since you are still close, personal friends, with Colonel Smith that he has told you why I'm seeking him out."

Face smiled. "He mentioned it."

She shifted her legs to show just a glimpse of thigh. It was subtle, but noticeable. "Then you know why the Agency is involved."

She was watching him, trying to read him, seeing how he handled her fishing to see how much he knew. It was the same exact thing he was doing to her. "I was under the impression all of that was old news. Anything that happened in Vietnam was over ten years ago. Why the sudden interest in it now?"

She looked down for a second and tapped her ashes. "I really can't answer that. That's an answer that you'd have to get from my superiors. They didn't clue me in."

"And who are those superiors?"

She was still smiling, moving and sound right, but something was just a bit off. He had been doing this long enough and was good enough to pick up on those ever-so-subtle clues: the slight tension in her jaw, the tightness in her shoulders and how she inhaled just slightly harder on her cigarette.

"How about we talk about you?" she suggested, looking up at him again. "I am very interested in your version of events, Lieutenant."

He was still smiling, too. But unlike her, he was completely relaxed. "I wish I could help you. But as far as I know, those assignments haven't been declassified yet."

"I've seen the file, so clearance isn't an issue." She was still acting the part but there was clearly something there, something bothering her. There was something deep in her eyes and a tiny brittle quality to her voice. "Sometimes what you see on paper or in _photos_ doesn't give you the whole story."

He nodded. "I really am inclined to believe you, Suzanne. That you are who you say you are and you've got the level of clearance you say that you do. But unfortunately, I can't take that kind of risk with matters of national security. And those assignments won't be declassified for at least another fifteen years."

For just second, there was a flash of emotion in her eyes before she wisely dropped them. Had he touched a sore spot or had she really thought it would be just that easy?

"I really am sorry, but I'm not sure how I can help you."

The final drag on her cigarette was clearly just to but her time to get her facade in order. She crushed out the smoke and took a sip of water before she looked at him again. The causal, relaxed, flirtatious look was back and locked in place. "Well, perhaps you can allow me to outline what my superiors are looking for from Smith? I'm sure you'll agree that it could work out to everyone's benefit."

She was looking him in the eyes as her fingers absently and carefully stoked the rim of the mug. He smiled, and gestured for her to continue. She definitely had the flirting down pat. The tip of her tongue outlined her lips as she leaned in close, giving him just a hint of the black lace bra past the neckline of her shirt.

"All they want is for the Colonel to come in for a meet. That's all." She lowered her eyes to watch her fingers, working on the mug. "Once they get their meet with him, we can all go on about our business. No interruptions, or unwanted intrusions."

He stared at her for a long moment, passive smile in place, completely unreadable. He let the silence linger a few seconds too long, until she was wondering what she'd said wrong, what he was thinking. Then, finally, he sipped his coffee. His smile fell as he lowered his eyes and his mug at the same time. "You don't know your job very well, do you?"

She blinked, startled, but quickly covered it up with a gentle laugh. "I know. The 'coming in' is pushing it. But you can't blame a girl for trying."

Another long, lingering, expressionless stare, and she gave him a half grin. But he could feel her squirm.

"In truth I would be a little disappointed if you agreed to that. My superiors may be put out by the inconvenience, but I'm sure I can get them to agree to a neutral location if you could convince Colonel Smith..."

He didn't answer. Just watched her. She hid her discomfort well, but he could feel it. Finally, he set one hand flat on the table. There was no polite smile or humor in his tone when he spoke again. It was confrontational, but not angry. In fact, for all intents and purposes, there was no emotion in it at all.

"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you're lying through your teeth. Because if you're stupid enough to think that the Agency would send you after somebody who's conveniently a military fugitive so that you can bring him in for a friendly chat, you wouldn't have gotten this far in life, let alone your career. So ignoring the part about the friendly meeting - which neither one of us is buying - how much do you _really_ know about what you're doing here?"

She gave him the courtesy of responding in kind, letting the façade drop behind dark eyes that bored into his. "Not as much as I _want_ to know."

"What story did they give you? We went rogue and decided it would be fun to commit war crimes?" He scoffed as he sat back again. "They could've at least been a little more original. The Army's been accusing us of that for the past ten years."

"That's not what happened?" she asked. Her voice was flat, just barely managing to keep it from sounding like an accusation.

His eyes narrowed slightly at her. "Did it ever occur to you that the Agency continued to use us right up until Hanoi?"

He could see the flicker in her eyes. Confusion, trying to assess him, weigh the information, find a response. Walking the line between what she could say and what she wanted.

"If we went rogue, why did they keep giving us assignments, keep trusting us with their goddamn propaganda suicide missions? Or is all of that conveniently missing from your file?"

"Like I said, paper and ink rarely tell the whole story," she answered flatly. "What _was_ in that file left one hell of an impression."

"I'm sure it did."

"So is this you telling me you where acting under orders?"

He paused, and leaned in, matching her whisper. "Is this you telling me that it hasn't occurred to you that this sounds an awful lot like trying to make something somebody finds very embarrassing go away?"

She didn't answer. He watched her for a moment, giving the words a moment to sink in before he continued quietly.

"Your bosses have nothing to gain by you bringing Hannibal in except an assurance of silence. Now why the hell would they be so concerned about that if we weren't acting under orders, hmm?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Uh huh." He leaned back and finally stood up, tossing a few bills on the table for the tip. He eyed her as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket, and gave her a humorless smile. "Think about it, Suzanne. And I'll see you around."

Without another word, he headed for the door, leaving her to rethink her way through the logic of the situation she was right smack in the middle of.


	10. Chapter Nine

**CHAPTER**** NINE**

**August 1969**

Hannibal stared for a moment at the contents of the folder, then up at the two men standing on the other side of the desk. "Who am I looking at?"

"Anh Dung Phan," the man in the civilian clothes explained. He was Agency. Hannibal could've smelled it on him even if he hadn't known before they'd called him here. "He was with us and now he's with them."

"With us," Hannibal repeated. "ARVN?"

A quick nod. Hannibal frowned as he watched the man. How did he always seem to get roped into these "special" assignments? He hated working for the Agency. He'd been sent here with no idea what this mission was about, just following Westman's order. But if past experience was any indication, they'd gotten themselves into some highly classified shit, and had some great idea how to use him to get themselves out. Relations between the Army and the Agency were not unfavorable. But Hannibal's personal opinion of them ranked up there with his opinion of rats and cockroaches.

"There's a lot of VC among our allies," Hannibal said flatly. "What makes him so special?"

"He's special because he had access to privileged information. Information which he took _with _him when he disappeared."

Hannibal raised a brow. "Took it with him how?"

"A file folder. Full of documents."

Oh, that was just wonderful. In a war so full of propaganda it was enough to make any man choke, knowledge was power. And that amount of power was never a good thing in the hands of someone who had "disappeared."

"What kind of documents?"

"What we _know _he took consists of detailed information on a very large number of our assets."

Hannibal nodded slowly. "Which, once it gets to the top and circulates back around, will mean they're going to have targets on their back."

"Precisely."

"I assume you've already started taking these informants out of harm's way."

The men exchanged glances. "The thing is, Colonel, we can't."

"Why not?"

"There's too many. We simply have no place to put them. And in addition, it would mean the immediate halt of a number of concurrent assignments on the table right now, as well as the reforming of damn near the entire infrastructure of our operations."

Hannibal stared. "How many people are we talking about here?"

"Two hundred and fifty-three."

"Shit…"

"That we know of at this time. We've not yet determined what additional information is missing. There are several folders. Some of it may be even more detrimental. We don't know. We don't have time to sift through and find out."

Hannibal nodded. "Alright, so you called me here. What do you want me to do about it?"

"I've heard your team is the best."

"You've heard right."

"I want you to get that information. And eliminate the potential threat to our assets."

"I'll get you the file," Hannibal said confidently. "But if he's had it for any length of time, there's no telling who he's shared it with."

"Yes, we understand that. And that's why we have called on you to eliminate _all_," he paused for effect, looking up and catching Hannibal's gaze, "of the potential threat."

Hannibal stared at him steadily. "I'm not a private detective, Mr. Ekhart. So you'd better at least have a list of names and where I might find said people."

"Names, no. But it is a limited number of targets in a concentrated area."

Hannibal was getting irritated. He sat forward. "Look. You want my help? Cut the crap and give me the bottom line. I'm tired of playing word games with you."

"When he left Saigon, he went straight for the village of Linh Hu Nao. It's where he grew up. We received word less than an hour ago from one of our sources in Hanoi that a top ranking general has grudgingly and with no great show of enthusiasm agreed to meet with him in three days. He thinks this is some kind of joke but we think he'll be changing his mind once he sees the contents of that folder."

"So you need this done within three days."

"We need it done yesterday, Colonel." He paused. "We need it done before he leaves that village. Because until he does, everyone who's had access to that information is contained within that village."

Hannibal stared at him, and slowly realized the ramifications of what was being said. He shut his eyes as he leaned on his hand, considering it carefully. "How large is this village?"

"About fifty people."

He nodded slowly. "And you're going to bomb it?"

"No."

Hannibal looked up, eyes cold as the reality of what he was hearing slowly sank in. "Because your information is inside."

"And because we want to be sure."

"Sure that every man, woman, and child is dead?"

"Yes, that about sums it up."

Hannibal looked away.

"In addition, this entire assignment is _highly _classified. We don't want to bring the Air Force in on it. We really didn't even want to bring you. But that couldn't be helped. And your team is the smallest unit, with the best reputation and the necessary security clearance."

"And you know that how?"

Tight smile. "Everyone knows your reputation, Colonel Smith. The rest is on good faith from General Westman."

Hannibal stood, eyes cold as he grabbed the drink off the table between the chairs, finished it in one gulp, and clapped it back down on the wood. "Remind me to thank him," he said bitterly as he headed for the door.

**1981**

Orders.

Suzanne understood the concept well. Orders were not subject to personal ideals or even moral convictions. They were given, and they were obeyed. In this line of work, people were bought and sold, paid for in currencies that couldn't be measured by the average human being, let alone the average American. How much more was that true in times of war?

But the photos on the desk in front of her made that concept a lot less simplistic. Bodies, bleeding, scattered wherever they had tried to run. Cold and empty eyes. Men, women… it didn't matter. They'd all been slaughtered. But contrary to the words of the report, she had to admit that she didn't see a single small child. Teenagers, yes. They were killed as indiscriminately as their parents. The youngest in the photos was perhaps nine. She picked up the black and white picture of blood and gore. Nine years old was too young to die. But the report had said there were children even younger. Infants. Where were they? Where was the logic? The more she studied the reports the less sense it made.

There was a well-documented list of all the residents of that village. Names, ages… all reportedly massacred. The Agency had turned it into a propaganda effort, used the senseless slaughter to turn a few more of the country's non-committed citizens against the VC. After all, if the VC would do this to their own, they certainly weren't speaking for the good of the country. They deserved to be hated and feared. The Americans were the heroes sent for the country's well-being. The men in charge of cleaning up had made this horrific mess into something that had worked for the benefit of their side. That didn't make it right. And that hadn't been Smith's intention. Or had it? More to the point, did he have any intentions? Or was he following orders?

Her brow furrowed as she stared at the words on the page, not reading them. She didn't have to read them; she could recite them from memory. Accounts from the soldiers who'd been sent to clean up the mess that read like a horror novel written in technical jargon. They'd buried the bodies, burned the ghost town to let it rest in peace. There were photos of that, too. More destruction. Everything that those people had ever had, ever loved, gone in a flash. Even if it had been the intention, that didn't make it right. It just made it… sick.

She'd been too young to understand the war while it was going on. The history books didn't tell the whole story; they never did. They didn't tell about things like this. Of course, they didn't talk much about the napalm the Americans had dropped on villages just like this, either. Was it different? Did it take a different breed of evil to shoot a woman and her child than it did to drop jellied gasoline on them and let them burn to death? War was sick by it very nature. A face-to-face killing only differed in that the soldier saw who he was killing.

And there were no photos of the children.

She heaved a sigh as she tossed the papers on the desk and covered her face with her hands. This was _not _going well.

"Everything alright?"

Suzanne prided herself of cool emotionless logic. If you looked long enough and hard enough at the facts a pattern would emerge, one that would make all on the pieces fit. Once you understood the facts and pattern, then it was easy to follow the logic and achieve the desired outcome. But nothing in this case seemed to fit; there was NO logic to it, at least not to the office story she had been given.

Worse, she was being effected personally, acting without thinking. The rush of anger and emotions was alien to her, frightening and strange. If she could just figure out what the truth was, maybe she could reestablish some sense of order and control; and stop the sensation she was operating in the dark. With a sigh, she glanced over her shoulder to look at the man sitting on the sofa, reading over his own papers as he finished off the last of the pizza.

"There's no children in these photos," she said flatly.

Luke glanced up, blinked a few times. "Huh?"

She turned her chair to face him. "Okay. Follow me for a second on this. Humor me. Alright?"

He leaned back, putting his full attention on her. "Alright."

Suzanne inhaled deeply, putting her thoughts in order before she spoke. "We know that in this war, it was sometimes deemed necessary – for whatever reason – to kill civilians."

He frowned. "I wouldn't put it like that."

"How would you put it?"

"Civilians got caught in the crossfire, from time to time."

"Time to time makes it sound like a rare occurrence. But it wasn't, was it?"

He raised a brow. "You're asking me?"

"Your brother was there. Would he agree that civilians were _often _caught in the crossfire?"

"He'd say that it was damn near impossible to tell a civilian from a VC until it was too late."

She sighed. He had the same practiced and PC ways to skirt around the simplicity of the fact as they all did. "We dropped bombs on villages – killed everyone. Innocent civilian and VC alike. Look at World War II. We dropped an atomic bomb with the intent of killing as many civilians as we could. _Two_ of them, in fact." There was a brutal calmness to the way she spoke those facts. Because this wasn't about emotions, it was about facts and logical reasoning.

"Okay, what's your point? That what Smith's team did wasn't really so bad after all?"

"No, that's no my point."

She hesitated. He waited. Finally, she took in a deep breath.

"My point is that logically, things don't add up. Why do they only want him?" She looked up again, meeting Luke's eyes. "His entire team was in on this; why just him?"

"I don't know." Luke shrugged. "Make an example? Why does it matter?"

"If they wanted him to be an example, they would be demanding a public trial, not a private meeting." Tapping a cigarette out of the pack on her desk, she paused to light it before adding

"What if they were acting under orders?"

Luke rolled his eyes. "Aw, come on."

"If they were acting on orders to kill the people in that village, then there had to be a damn good reason."

"If," Luke emphasized. "_If _they were acting under orders and for the proof of that you've got the word of the accused who happens to also be a wanted criminal. Wanted for war crimes, I might add!"

Her eyes locked on his. "Yes. I have his word against the word of the men who would have given that order."

"And an overwhelming amount of evidence in black and white that corroborates their version."

"Evidence that was recorded and written by people who would have has a vested interest in manipulating the facts."

Luke only sighed.

"Luke, even in black and white, there are two completely different was to interpret what happened." The neutral and clinical tone she was using would have been familiar to anyone who knew her. She was analyzing the data. "The soldiers they sent out to bury the bodies; they didn't know Americans had done that. They weren't told anything about Smith and his team."

"Thank God. That would've been a hell of a mess."  
"_Why_, Luke?" That was the question that kept nagging at her. Why? Where was the logic? Even insanity had a logic and pattern to it, so why didn't this? "We used different guns than they did. There was no rape, no burning, no pillage. And there no children in the photographs."

"Who the hell wants to take pictures of dead children?"

"Soldiers and politicians who are going to use those photo's to emphasize the cruelty and brutality of the VC in order to recruit assets. They would've shot the most gruesome things they could find. And they did. Except there's no evidence of children anywhere." She took another deep inhale, letting the smoke fill her lungs, before she exhaled slowly, mind working overtime to categorize and sift thought facts, even as she was speaking. "You know what their reports read? Way down at the bottom of that huge stack of paperwork?"

"No."

"Their working theory was that the VC took them and sold them. At which point they were as good as dead." Leaning back in her chair she asked "So tell me, how does that work. How do you even attempt to legitimize that theory if the VC were NOT the ones who attack that village?"

Luke shrugged. "Hell if I know." From his indifferent attitude it was clear he didn't care about the facts. He had his order too

"Smith says they children were not killed. He has a picture in his wallet." She held back telling him about where Smith had said they children where. There was no sense in divulging any more information then she needed to.

"And you _bought _that?"

"I can't find a better explanation, no matter how many different ways I interoperate the facts. Can you?"

Luke just stared as the words sunk in and he tried every which way to come up with an explanation that hours of staring at these files had not brought her. He wouldn't find it. But she wished like hell he would. She indulged herself in a few moments of silence while Luke struggled to come up with a nonexistent answer.

Suzanne finished her cigarette, crushing it out before she looked back at Luke. "Now tell me something, Luke" finally said, quietly. "If your orders were to kill every man, woman, and child in a village – maybe they told you why and maybe they didn't but let's just assume it was a very good reason, a vital reason, a necessity even. What would you do?" There was nothing in her voice to give away how much the question haunted her, she made sure of that. Still the question ran through her head. Could she, if the stake were high enough, do that? Suzanne hoped like hell she never had to find out.

He was quiet for a long moment. "You really think they're innocent," he finally said quietly.

_I think they killed every adult in that village and they spared the children. And that they were under orders to kill everything that moved__._

She was surprised by thought that immediately came to her mind. No hesitation, no doubt; she was even more surprised as to realize she was no longer playing devil's advocate. She really _did_ believe that. But she kept it to herself. Out loud, she only said, "What I think doesn't matter, I have orders, too."

She wasn't sure why she didn't tell Luke what she was thinking. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was habit. Either way, it was best for all parties involved if she kept her revelation to herself. At least until she found out how far up this went.

If whoever had given those orders ever found out about survivors there would have been hell to pay. Smith would've known that. Was he the type of man to risk it? That wasn't really a question. She remembered the look in his eyes as clearly as if he were standing in front of her right now – that look that seemed to pierce her right through. Yes, she had no doubt he would risk that.

It answered a lot of questions and it brought new ones to light. Who'd given the orders and why? What difference did it really make more than ten years later? She could see the cover up Peck saw. But she couldn't see why. More importantly, if there was a cover up, then this whole thing was an attempt to shift blame from the person who was really responsible for these deaths to an easy target. Maybe Luke was right. Maybe all they wanted was to make an example of him. The question was an example of what.

"So what does it change, Suzanne?" He sounded tired. "Are you going to report back and say you don't like this assignment anymore? Ask for a nicer one?"

"No." Her answer was automatic, before she had any idea of what she would do instead. She spent a long moment thinking about that. Orders were orders. She had hers. Maybe more importantly, if Smith and/or his team were the only ones who really knew what happened in that village, they were the only ones that could assign the responsibility where it was due. They would have to prove it, against overwhelming evidence to the contrary. But if they'd convinced her, they could at least potentially convince others.

"What are you going to do?"

Suzanne took in a slow, deep breath. As she looked up again, her eyes fixed on Luke. "I'm going to bring him in. He's the only one who can clear this up. And if he's telling the truth, someone's got a lot of explaining to do."

That was just another cold, hard fact.

*X*X*X*

If there hadn't been a peep hole in Hannibal's front door, and if he hadn't carefully chosen an apartment with access into the attic, he would've been a sitting duck when the police showed up. They wasted no words in announcing their business, and no time in kicking down his door. He could hear them on the steps as he hoisted himself up into the attic and carefully closed the door behind him. It would take them a while to figure out where he'd gone. And that was only if they knew for a fact he was here.

"Looks like nobody's home."

Hannibal pressed flat on the strips of plywood set up in the attic, listening through the vent in the bathroom. He'd have plenty of warning if they thought to check up here.

"Great." Suzanne. He recognized her voice immediately, and frowned. "He must've known we were coming."

"Or he's just out and about."

"No, it's Thursday." She said firmly "He's always here on Thursday evenings."

She was right.

"Well, apparently not _this _Thursday."

"Alright," another male voice chimed in. "Search this place top to bottom. I want to know where we can find this guy."

They wouldn't find anything.

"Didn't you say the first time you talked to him was at his job?"

"Yes, but he hasn't shown up for work since."

"Think he got another job somewhere else?"

Actually, he hadn't. But he was thinking about it. Of course, it wasn't the kind of job they were talking about. She'd all but sabotaged him in the movie business – at least temporarily. He'd find a way to get re-established. A pseudonym, maybe. But in the meantime, an out of town venture might actually help take the heat off. Maine was nice this time of year. Or maybe Minnesota…

"If we go after him in public, he'll see us coming. Then our only option will be to make a scene. Colonel Lynch has proven that time and time again."

Hannibal smiled.

"Colonel who?"

Suzanne sighed audibly. "Never mind." Her voice was cold and professional, but it was clear to Hannibal that Suzanne thought very little of people who didn't do their research and come prepared.

Hannibal frowned as he listened to final instructions from Suzanne. She'd been hoping to catch him here; which meant she had no interest in forming a police case against him. No need to look for evidence of anything in particular. He had to wonder, somewhere in the back of his mind, if they even had a valid warrant. He wouldn't put it past her to play dirty if that's what it took to get what she wanted.

She'd managed to be everywhere he turned for the past two weeks. The fact that she'd found his apartment – which was for all intents and purposes his safe house - was troublesome. Of course, it wasn't entirely an unfair advantage. He'd known where to find her almost since her arrival in LA. He'd just never considered her enough of a threat to bother paying her a visit. If anything, he'd spent the past few days amused as hell by her determination. As much as he didn't _like _it, he'd been waiting for her to try and root him out. She had to know by now that he wasn't falling for the "friendly chat" routine.

Unless, of course, he didn't avoid her. A slow grin spread over his face. He couldn't figure what the hell she was planning to _say _on the off chance that he fell into one of the traps she kept setting. But if she was going to openly and blatantly attack him, and get the police involved, no less, she was starting to progress out of the "amusing" stage and into "annoying." She was starting to get under his skin, interfere with his life.

Maybe she deserved a visit from him.


	11. Chapter Ten

**CHAPTER TEN**

Suzanne stepped out of the bathroom with a towel held loosely closed over her torso, lost in her own thoughts. Hannibal Smith was nowhere to be found. For three days, there had been no sign of him. She was beginning to wonder if he was even still here. Would he leave LA? Would he go to ground? Her feet pattered on the carpet as she made her way to the bedroom, so lost in her thoughts that she had no idea she was not alone until his voice broke through her thoughts.

"Hello, Suzy."

She took a quick, startled step back, pulling in a sharp breath as she clutched the towel. He was standing in her hallway, leaned on the wall with a pistol loosely in his hand, almost toying with it. It took a moment for her brain to play connect the dots. Once she determined that she was actually seeing him, her eyes narrowed on him.

"It's Suzanne. And what in the hell are you doing here?"

He gave her a full smile. "I thought you'd be happy to see me. Or is this just a bad time?"

She pulled in a deep breath to gather her thoughts, that momentary panic of being caught off guard slipping away. The cocky bastard was playing with her. Well, fine two could play that game. She took a step forward - just enough to make sure she was no longer plastered onto the wall. "You could have arranged a better way to set up a meet Colonel. In my experience, a phone call is far more effective and much less dangerous than home invasion."

"Home invasion?" He grinned. "This isn't a home invasion. It's just a friendly chat."

"Ah yes, you do have a very unique way of defining friendly." She said nodding towards the pistol.

"If it was a home invasion, I'd have to say something like –" He raised the gun, pointing it at her, but his amused tone and expression gave no indication that he was seriously trying to order her around. "– put your hands up."

Her eyes honed in on his. That casual tone, the complete disregard for boundaries, it made her blood boil and made her want to wipe the smirk off his face. How in the hell was it so easy for him to irritate her? Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger, she instead gave him a too-sweet smile. "That's very clever. If the creature roles don't work out for you, maybe you could try your hand at standup comedy." Her smile turned mocking. "On second thought, stick with the nonspeaking roles. It's much better for your mass appeal when you don't talk."

Her towel slipped some, but she made no attempt to adjust it. Suzanne had bigger issues to deal with at the moment. "Now that the comedy hour is over, can we move on to what you want?"

He looked at her over the gun for a moment, then lowered it. "Well, you've been trying so hard to get in touch with me, I figured I'd do you a favor and save you some work."

"You came to turn yourself in, how nice. I don't suppose you would be willing to handcuff yourself for me, would you?"

"No. But. I am willing to hear you out if you have anything of particular importance to say."

"You already know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

She raised a brow. "Actually, I don't."

"Start by telling me what the Agency wants with me and go from there."

"My boss just wants to talk to you. Plain and simple. They want you to clear up some questions about what happened in that village."

"That's what the debriefing was for."

"Apparently, they require more information than what they currently have."

She crossed her arms in front of her, ignoring the fact that her towel had come partially undone. No doubt he was getting an eyeful. That didn't bother her in the least. In fact, in a worst case scenario it would only offer a mild distraction for him. And the more he was distracted, the better her position was. For his part he was careful to remain just as casual, and still smiling.

"Well, given all the trouble you're going through to make get your answers, I hope there's at least a promotion in it for you."

"I take my satisfaction on a job well done," she smiled

He nodded, and pushed off the wall, taking a few slow steps toward her. "Well, try to understand, honey."

She raised a brow. Honey? Was he serious? Or had she somehow found herself in a Sam Spade movie?

"It's my daily routine to avoid people like you. And I've been doing it a _lot _longer than you've been hunting people like me."

He was so focused on her, he didn't seem to even consider the open doorway to the bedroom that he passed without so much as a glance. And before he reached her, a fully dressed and fully armed man had a loaded gun pointed in his direction.

"Don't. Fucking. Move."

A wry smile crossed her features as Luke cocked the pistol against the back of Smith's head. "It's nice to see that even with all that experience, there are still opportunities for you to learn. Guess we'll find out if you can teach an old dog new tricks." Her eyes never left him as she reached out one hand, palm up. "Your gun please, Colonel"

She kept a safe distance as she waited for him to hand over his weapon, so that she would have time to react against any sudden movements. Annoying or not, he had proven himself to be more capable of turning situations to his advantage.

He was no longer smiling, except with his eyes. But even so, he didn't seem the least bit intimidated as he handed over his pistol, holding it by the barrel. "Take good care of it," he said lightly. "I expect you to hand it back to me in the same condition."

"Don't worry, I'm very good with guns too Colonel." She took the pistol with a smile. "I will be glad to return your weapon as soon as your meeting with my employer is done."

He only smiled.

Keeping her eyes on him, she spoke to her partner. "Luke, can you take it from here?"

Luke nodded. "Up against that wall, Smith. Put your hands behind your head."

If he was expecting any resistance, he didn't get it. She dismissed Smith without so much as a second glance as she made her way to the bedroom to put on some clothes. Despite the fact she was only wearing a towel, Suzy was damn near strutting. He had let his arrogance get the best of him, and she had capitalized on it. And winning always made her smile. By the time she re-emerged, his hands were cuffed behind him. And he looked no less smug in spite of it. She ran her eyes up and down him, patronizing, ignoring the his smugness.

Finally, she looked at Luke. "That's an extremely becoming look on you, Colonel Smith."

Luke was not impressed or amused, but Smith grinned at her. "You like handcuffs?" he teased.

"I adore handcuffs, when you're in them." She smile sweetly

"Too bad we're on opposite sides. We could have a lot of fun." He was grinning at her, even as Luke shoved him roughly in the direction of the apartment door with a snarled "Get moving."

Suzanne opened the front door as Luke grabbed the keys off the hook on the wall and shoved Smith forward. He didn't resist as he was led by the arm down the stairs. He didn't even give a token struggle as Luke shoved him into the back of the car and shut the door hard.

Luke waited until she was in the passenger seat with a gun trained on their prisoner before climbing into the driver's seat and fiddling with the keys. Smith smiled at the gun, and at her. "So tell me. Does your boss want me dead or alive?"

"I intend to keep you alive Colonel."

He was her best chance of getting to who was responsible for what happened in that village and Suzanne had no intention of letting him disappear once he was in CIA custody. That meant she would be violating several rules and running a huge risk; risk that she neither wanted nor trusted involving Luke in. Best to keep her intentions to herself.

"Since my boss wishes to have a discussion with you, then alive would be the best option. You do have to be alive to chat since, as they say, dead men tell no tales." She let any concerns she had fade to the back round. The first part of her objective was complete, and finally catching him was worth enjoying.

"Well, that's comforting."

"I'm glad I was able to allay you fears, Colonel."

She kept the gun on him, her grip not overly tight but not so casual that it would easily be knocked out of her hand. For all the hoops she'd had to jump through thus far, she was almost a bit disappointed with this anticlimactic end. In her own house. He must have been watching for a while, so how could he have missed Luke? That was a third grade mistake. Was he really that easy? He was many things, but amateur wasn't one of them.

Luke was still fumbling with the keys. "The hell?"

She kept her eyes on Hannibal. "Is there a problem Luke?"

"Where's the key to the car?"

Suzanne spared a quick glance in Luke's direction, just in time to see him look up at her, confusion on his face. This wasn't the first time he'd driven her car; finding the key should not have been an issue. He held the ring up, looking through the keys again. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as she put the pieces together. Okay, so much for third grade, but it still wouldn't get him out of those cuffs and this car.

"Colonel," she said with an almost playful smile, "you can either tell me where the car key is, and we can have this discussion with my boss, or we can waste time and then have that discussion. Either way, you will not be going anywhere that I don't want you to."

Hannibal raised a brow. "You mean you don't carry a spare set on you? Now _that_, Suzy, is a rookie mistake."

She really hated that arrogant aura he had, it made her all them more determined to not raise to his bait. She shot a glance at Luke. "My keys are on the dresser, I will stay with our _guest_ while you go and get them"

"Alright." Luke glared, but didn't turn to look at Smith. "I'll be right back."

She waited for Luke to leave, before distancing himself from Smith. Even cuffed, she wouldn't put it past him to try something. Leaning against the dash she managed to put the maximum amount of distance between them, while still keeping a bead on him. "That's a very cute trick, Colonel. Ineffective, but cute" she said. "Tell me, did you learn that from watching The Little Rascals or Our Gang?" He may have caused a delay, but she was still in control.

He was still smiling. "There are valuable lessons to be learned in _every_ avenue of life."

She raised her brow slightly, choosing not to pursue the conversation anymore. He was caught; this was a slight delay in transport and nothing more. And she was going to make sure that it stayed that way, in spite of the fact that he was watching her with a confident smile.

"You could stand to take a few lessons you know," he taunted.

"I'm always open to new learning experiences. However I think I'll take my life lessons from someone who has proven themselves to be a bit more of a challenge." She was gloating, and she knew it. It wasn't at all like her, but she couldn't help herself. It felt _good_ to beat him at his own game.

"Okay." He gave an exaggerated shrug. "But you may want to take notes on this."

She frowned. The taunting tone was a warning. He had something up his sleeve.

"What happens when a metal holding chamber of highly flammable liquid comes into contact with a small explosive?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. What the hell was he getting at? All teasing and enjoyment was gone, as her heart rate picked up. Behind that air of amused confidence, Suzanne was suddenly very aware of how clever and dangerous he could be. Quickly, her brain tried to figure out what he was planning. The only weapon he had access to was the gun she had in her own hand. If it had been his gun, Smith could have potentially booby trapped it. But she was holding her own gun, and there was no way he'd booby trapped that.

"What are you trying to-"

She was cut off by an explosion large enough to rock the entire car and blow out both passenger side windows. There was no time to react, only to shield from the incoming glass. The back driver's side door opened and by the time she opened her eyes again, there was only handcuffs, a bobby pin, and a small black box with a switch and an antenna on the back seat. Ears ringing from the noise of the blast she shouted, "Damn it!"

Stumbling out of the car, she kept her gun drawn in front of her, trying to figure out what had just what the hell had happened. The car beside hers was in flames, and she stood staring at it in shock for a long moment. He had blown up the car _next _to hers. This was a diversion? Shit! Heart pounding, every sense become hyper focused on her surroundings. Moving quickly but cautiously, Suzanne started towards the back of the burning car; Smith _had _to be close by. No way was she going to let him get away. Suddenly, he bolted from the _front_ of the car – not the back where she was expecting him – on the other side of the heat wave and smoke that would blur her shot.

Her eyes landed on him for a split second and she raised her gun. But before she had a chance to determine how best to follow him around the side of another pickup truck, a second explosion - this time of the car she'd just been in, shook the ground. The few steps back she'd taken saved her from being touched by the flames. But she still had the heat and flying glass to contend with.

She recoiled back out of instinct, shielding her eyes once again from the heat and debris. It didn't matter. She had a direction. She forced her eyes open against the heat and smoke and fired her gun in the direction that she had seen him. Had he just tried to kill her? No, if he wanted to do that, he would have blown her car while she was still in it, stunned. He was playing a god damned game.

She gritted her teeth as she suddenly realized that whether or not her harm had been his intent, he'd just destroyed her car. That took a lot of nerve, and it pissed her right the hell off. Whatever constraints she had had before under the guise of professionalism, they were all but a memory now. She would hunt him down and make him pay if it was the last thing she managed to do in her entire career.

The truck he'd run around had been backed into the parking space, putting the driver's side door on the opposite side of her position. The door opened, and before she had a chance to come much closer, it was squealing out of the parking space, burning rubber. Her bullets hit the tailgate, and the back window. It shattered out, but he didn't even sit up until he was a good 50 yards away. At that distance, and in the swerving truck, her bullets didn't hit anything more. She let out a scream of frustration as he squealed out of the parking lot and into the street, and had the gall to reach one arm out the window and wave at her. Then he was gone, leaving her alone in the midst of two flaming cars and the smell of burning rubber.

*X*X*X*

She had no major injuries to speak of. A little burnt, but no more than a sunburn. Some scrapes. All kinds of angry, but only making knocking smith off his high horse would fix that. Her badge gave her permission to stay on the scene, and the CSIs were actually almost friendly.

"Let me guess. You wanna know how he did it."

The man standing in front of her wore a smile - but it was worlds apart from Hannibal's cocky grin. He was almost sympathetic but not quite; just another day in the office for him. His question was redundant and unneeded, but pointing that out to him would not get her what she wanted. Suzanne had just spent hours sitting around the charred debris of her car waiting for his conclusions. Of course she wanted to know how he'd done it. Swallowing her anger, she fell back to her default mode, cold professional. Putting a on her business mask, she smiled and kept her tone professional. "I would appreciate that."

"Well…" He held up a bag with the small box- blackened by the fire. "This detonator was most likely what set off the charge on the gas tank of the other car. In my... expert opinion."

He smiled. She looked back at him, keeping her expression neutral. He didn't have to be an expert to figure that out and they both knew it.

"It's small enough, he probably hit it in the joint of the seat. Maybe also where he hid his lock pick, assuming you frisked him before you put him in there with the cuffs on."

"My partner did," she said dryly. "He didn't have anything on him except the gun."

Which they still had. Like a consolation prize. Suzanne clenched her jaw as she fought to keep her anger under the surface. The son of a bitch had planned the whole god damned thing.

From the moment he had waltzed into her place, he had completely played her. He had known exactly what he was doing the whole time. That smug smile, cool demeanor. No one was that calm when they were arrested, no matter how many times they'd been to jail. Not unless they knew they weren't going to make it there. How could she have been so stupid? Her mind was already swirling with all of the things she would have to do differently next time.

"Alright," she said, keeping her voice level and controlled. "What was the ignition source in the other car?" _Her_ car.

"Oh, that one's even better." He almost chuckled at that, but cut himself off with one glance at her expression. He held up a wire coat hanger. "We found this under the car. And inside the gas compartment, we found what looks like the remains of... something. Maybe fabric? Cotton balls? We'll know exactly when we get it back to the lab but in any case... My guess is that he stuffed whatever it was into the gas tank, then lit it himself when he got out of the car. He had enough time to get away from the car while it burned down before it got far enough to catch the fumes.

She stared. _Son of a bitch!_He had been right there. Within reaching distance – definitely within shooting distance – if she had just been quicker to figure things out.

"Seems almost simple," the investigator said. "But he definitely planned the hell out of it."

Jaw set, she nodded slightly. "Yes, apparently he is rather good at that."

Luke was holding a hand over his eyes, shaking his head slowly as the investigator finally wandered away from them. "This guy is something else."

"Tell me about it," she answered dryly.

"So what the hell do we do now?"

She stared at the remnants of the vehicles and frowned deeply. "We apprehend him" she said darkly. "And this time, when we get him back in handcuffs; we make damn sure to take away all of his toys."

It didn't matter what that meant, or what it would cost. She was going to get that man, it she had rent a car, rent a plane, hell she would steal a God damn tank if she had to. And once she had him, strip him down, put him in a casket and transport him in a hearse for all she cared. Now it was personal.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

Something was wrong. The world was rocking.

Awake instantly, Hannibal sat up and looked around him at the paneled walls, trying to re-orient himself with where he was. Small room. Not apartment. Smaller. Rocking. The memories came back quickly, but fit together slowly. Boat. He was in the sleeping room of a mid-sized boat that Face was currently borrowing. Well, that explained the rocking.

Hannibal laid down again, on his back, and put a hand over his forehead, staring up at the ceiling. It was light – what time was it? No clock nearby. He shut his eyes again. "Face?"

No answer. He relaxed for a moment, then slowly stood, throwing a pair of jean shorts over his boxers on the way to the few steps leading up to the deck. On the first step, he stopped, looking out across the deck. They were moving. No dock. They were out on the ocean. Hannibal stopped cold. That wouldn't be Face's doing. He got too seasick to actually take the boat _out_ if he could help it.

After a brief pause, Hannibal turned and calmly walked back, retrieving the pistol out of the bedside table. He ascended the steps again – this time all the way to the deck – with caution. He looked relaxed, but he was well aware of the potential threat in this situation.

The deck was empty. The boat was definitely moving. No sign of the shore; how far out were they? The boat's motors weren't going. Nobody at the helm. He took it all in at almost the same time, and slowly walked around until he could see the front of the boat, staying low enough that anyone standing up there wouldn't be able to see him.

Other side of the boat. Shore in the distance, probably a few miles away. Tugboat. Hannibal chuckled as he caught a glimpse of the woman stepping out of the cabin, checking her gun with a self-satisfied smirk on her face. She just didn't give up. Under her arm was a bullhorn, ready to announce her presence. Well, now, _this _would be interesting.

Keeping low and out of her sight, he stepped back, and slowly snuck around to the steps leading down to the holding area.

*X*X*X*

This time, Suzanne's plan had gone off without a hitch. They had hooked up Smith's boat and towed it out of the harbor without so much as waking him. At the three mile mark, she'd stepped out of the cabin of the tug, leaving Luke and the boat's captain at the controls. Now that they where this far out, it was safe to give Smith a wakeup call. He was too fond of dramatic getaways, and he was good at them. But out here, three miles from shore, there was nowhere for him to run. This time, she had him.

Gun at her side, she stepped to the aft of the boat and turned on the bull horn. "Ahoy, Colonel John Smith!"

Lowering the bull horn slightly, she eyed his boat closely, looking for any signs of life. She could feel her heart rate speed up a little in anticipation of seeing the look on his face. But nothing stirred. If she hadn't been watching with her own two eyes when he boarded early this morning, she would actually wonder if maybe he wasn't in there.

But he was in there. And most likely, he was watching from somewhere, trying to find an escape route. Suzanne knew for a fact there was none. She and Luke had debated having one of them board his boat, but in the end decided that was too risky. After his little stunt with her car, he had proven himself to be quite dangerous in close quarters. It was better this way. Tow him into open waters while he was unaware. He would have no time to plan or lay traps, and he had nowhere to go. He could either agree to her terms or he could try a standoff, which he would lose.

Smiling Suzanne held the bull horn back to her lips. "Colonel Smith, you are in open waters and under arrest. There's nowhere to run."

No response. Fine. They'd do it the hard way.

"Prepare to be boarded, Smith!"

There was only _one _way in and out of the boat's cabin. He would have to come though it at some point. And when he did, she would have her gun on him. So would Luke. The colonel had at least one gun, she was sure. But if he used it, he was as good as dead. Smith was many things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

Watching the boat again, she checked for movement. Once they dropped anchor, Luke would come out on deck and take over surveillance of the boat while she prepared to board. But then, suddenly, Smith appeared, shirtless and shoeless, and smiling as he leaned on the corner of the front cabin.

"Hello, Suzy," he greeted pleasantly. "If you wanted to board me, there are much nicer ways to ask."

She watched him very carefully. If she didn't know better, she would've thought he was just out for a pleasure cruise. Good thing she did know better. Even though she couldn't get a visual, she knew he had a gun in the back of his cut offs. She had yet to see him without a weapon.

Suzanne could already feel it – the adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt. This time she had her prey cornered. Not taking her eyes off of him, she called back.

"I'm glad to see your impending arrest has not affected your disposition."

What in the hell was taking Luke so long? Perfect plan or not, the last thing they needed was to give Smith time to plot.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the rifle Luke would use to cover her. She could use that to force Smith into compliance now, but that would be showing her hand. And pointless. She needed him alive. It would be much easier all around if she didn't bring him in with extra bullet holes.

"Put your gun on the deck, Smith. Slowly."

It really didn't matter if he did that or not. At this distance, and on the waves, a hand gun was pretty useless. It was more of a litmus test to see how willing he was to cooperate. If he was a normal person, he would see that he was trapped. But this was Smith. And it was impossible to guess what he was thinking.

He chuckled. "Now why would I want to do a thing like that?"

He reached into his pocket - definitely not enough room in his pocket for anything dangerous. As it turned out, it was only a lighter. He used it to light the cigar that had been resting between the fingers of his other hand, and he puffed on it a few times before he stuck the lighter back in his pocket and tipped his head, eyeing her curiously. At this distance, and over the waves, he had to yell to be heard. But he was still perfectly casual somehow.

"Though I might consider it if you said please."

Of course, he was playing a game. What else could she expect from him but a game? Even here, miles from shore with no one to help him and nowhere to hide, he still acted like he was the one holding all the cards.

Setting the bull horn down on the bench, Suzanne didn't bother to answer him. She wasn't playing his game, not this time. Eyes not leaving her target she called to Luke. "Let's go, I want to get him locked down."

Her focus was him, every movement, every word; all of her senses needed to be fully engaged when dealing with him. She saw - too far away to hear - Hannibal chuckle. He took a step toward the railing, leaning on it with one arm, and watched her with amusement.

"Hey, Suzy, your bosses ever tell you what my trained specialty was back in Vietnam? Besides the medical, because that was sort of a necessity. Not the one I really enjoyed."

"Demo," she answered reflexively. Of course she knew that.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood up as she realized what she'd just said.

He laughed. "Good guess!"

She went with her gut, grabbing for the rifle and never taking her eyes off of him. The gun was a 30/30 with a sniper scope. Suzy would be accurate for about 150 yards, even in the water. But before she had a chance to wrap her hand around it, Smith took one step toward the open door leading below deck, tossed his cigar, and in almost the same movement, turned and dove overboard. He'd just hit the water when the explosion rocked the surface of the ocean, tossing the tug boat every which way as Smith's boat burst into a loud, wretching ball of flame.

The subsequent explosions rocked the tug so hard she had to grab onto something to keep her footing. For several seconds she could do nothing but hang on to the rail and stare in complete in utter shock. What had been a boat was now scattered over the ocean, some of it still burning. God damn it! How in the hell…? No, _what_ in the hell was he thinking?

Looking out in the direction Smith had disappeared. She saw nothing but the waves and falling debris. Then, suddenly, she saw his head pop up. He was swimming. Her eyes widened. The son of a bitch was going to try and swim for it? Oh _hell _no! She was _not _losing him now.

"Luke!"

She suddenly realized she wasn't shouting over the tug's engine. Shit. From behind her she heard a loud string of, "Jesus mother fucking Christ!. What the fuck was that?"

"That was Smith." She lifted her foot and pulled off her shoe, using the rail for balance in the still-rocking boat. "What happened to the engine?"

"Dead," he answered, shocked by the sight of the debris. "It must have caught some shrapnel."

"Shit."

He stared at her as she pulled off her other shoe. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going after Smith. Cut the tow line before that damn thing sinks us and radio for help."

She stared at her like she'd just lost her mind. She ignored him, debating only for a second about her gun. She set it in the deck. There was no point in bringing it; after it hit the salt water, it wouldn't do her any good. Besides, she had the knife.

She was up on the bench and Luke was still standing there. "Jesus, Luke, get it together! Cut the line and call for back up!"

She didn't have the time to deal with Luke right now. Eyes following Smith, she executed a beautiful dive off the side of the boat. Luke's frustrated yell of "Suzanne!" was the last thing she head before she hit the water.

His pace was not strenuous. But with the waves and the sudden exertion and adrenaline expenditure, it took her damn near three hundred yards to catch up with him.

"You blew up your damn boat?" she cried, with as much force as she could manage while still swimming. "What the hell is wrong with you! First my car and now your boat; what are you some kind of serial bomber?"

"It was a rental," he answered, not bothering to look at her as he made smooth, even strokes through the water.

"A rental!" A wave splashing into her face filled her mouth and eyes and nose with salt water and she sputtered for a moment, eyes burning like hell, before she continued after him. "Jesus Christ, how did you _not _get sectioned 8? I need to reread your psych evaluation because obviously they _missed _something!"

"Psych eval? I haven't had one of those in over a decade. Maybe I should arrange another one?"

She wanted to scream as he taunted her with his tone. How the hell did he manage to make her _so _angry? "Good thinking! Maybe they can prescribe something for you!"

"I'll have them send you a copy. Maybe next time it'll give you an edge."

"I am really going to enjoy bringing you in, Smith!"

"Not today, you're not."

She realized as she swam, pulling against the current that was dragging them down the beach, that she was still wearing her watch. Again, she wanted to scream. That was a nice watch, damn it! She wanted to take it off and throw it at him, but she had to keep swimming hard if she wanted to keep up with him.

"You owe me a car _and_ a watch now!"

"Put it on my tab."

"You're over your goddamn credit limit"

It was fucking hard to swim in a business length skirt. She took a minute to reach down and pull it up, allowing herself a better kick. "Hey, Esther Williams! What in the hell did you think that little stunt was going to get you?"

"My daily exercise?"

"Have you ever considered jogging? Or maybe jazzercise? You know, something less insane?"

"Jogging is fun. But there's nothing more invigorating than a good morning swim. Really gets the blood flowing. And the water's so nice and warm."

Warm? Was he kidding? "Yeah well flaming wreckage can do that!"

She was quiet for a few moments, concentrating on keeping up with him, glaring daggers into the back of his silver head.

"You know, a little open ocean swim isn't going to stop me or save you, Smith."

"You sound awful confident for someone who's having a hard time keeping up."

She gritted her teeth. The adrenaline and anger was making her blood sing. "I am _not_!" She didn't have anything stronger to add to that. The truth was, it was infuriating that he was so much older than her and yet so well able to keep up the strenuous pace.

"You ought to be thanking me, Suzy. You need to get out more. Enjoy life."

"And you need to work on defining the term 'enjoy.' Because the only part of this I'm going to enjoy is the look on your face when I drag you in!"

He chuckled. "Save your breath, Suzy. Given that I can't see the shore yet over the waves, you're going to need it by the time we make it to dry land if you expect to have any energy left to drag me anywhere."

"Don't worry about me. I can handle myself."

But she did stop talking. This was going to be one hell of a long swim.

***X*X*X***

Hannibal was tired when he pulled himself to shore. He wasn't exactly sure where he was. The current had carried them so far from the docking harbor, it was hard to tell. A secluded beach, and the road up ahead would probably be the coastal highway.

He needed to get to a phone. If he could do that, he could call Face. His legs weren't going to carry him too much further. A three mile swim would have been strenuous on a normal day. Add in the current and it felt more like ten.

Sitting up on his knees in the sand, he looked back over his shoulder at Suzanne, making sure that she made it onto the shore. It was hard to say if she was swimming, stumbling, or crawling. Before he could even decide a wave swept in on her, knocking her face first in to the surf. Half a second later she was standing up on shaking legs, breathing heavily as she struggled to the shore. Her long hair was plastered to her skin, and her running mascara made her look like a raccoon. The blazer she'd been wearing was long gone, and the white button down shirt was stuck to her skin and see-through. Even as tired as he was, Hannibal grinned at that. The fact that her skirt was hiked up to the tops of her thighs was an added bonus. She really did have nice legs.

She was about twenty feet from him when her legs gave out. Dropping to her hands and knees, she crawled towards him. Even through his exhaustion and hers, he could see anger and determination in the eyes she had locked on him. He chuckled at it. Briefly. It was all the energy he could spare.

Turning around, he sat down with his knees bent and pulled up, leaning forward on them for a moment while he caught his breath. Damn, he was tired. The only consolation was that she was more tired than he was. And that was, in fact, one hell of a consolation.

"Still got those handcuffs, Suzy?" he taunted, not looking up. "Or did they fall into the ocean somewhere?"

She was close, he could hear her labored breathing over his own. There was also the feel of warm metal as she pushed the cuff on his wrist, locking it, much slower than normal. She was barely able to kneel, but she was still trying to get the other cuff onto his opposite wrist. Her movements were slowed by fatigue as she panted weakly, "You're… under... arrest."

He found the energy to laugh. Then he lifted his head, stared at her for a moment, and grabbed her wrist. It took minimal effort to push her onto her back, and he pinned her wrists on either side of her head. It wasn't going to take any effort to keep them there, either. He didn't think she had the effort to lift them if he hadn't been holding them with his weight.

He was too tired to keep the exhaustion out of his voice. But there was still a slight smile on his face as he looked down at her. "You know, it's too bad... we're on opposite sides... of the law."

"Oh… Oh yeah?" she gasped back. "Why…? Why's that?"

He paused for a few deep breaths, then leaned down, letting his lips just brush hers, barely, as he spoke. "Have to admire a woman who can keep up with me."

Suzy was still struggling to get her breath, and judging by the way she had gone still, she had already spent the last ounce of adrenaline and energy she had trying to cuff him. She was watching him, blinking slowly. She seemed barely able to keep them open, as if it took too much effort. She didn't even so much as turn her head; she just let her lips brush his as she managed, "I can... more than… keep up… with you."

She meant it as a threat, but she was too tired to pull it off. Instead, it only made him smile. "I don't think so." He dropped his head down to whisper in her ear. "But I'm dying to see you try."

Using all the strength and determination he could muster - do-or-die experiences in the wars he'd fought in had taught him a lot about the false perceptions of "limits" - he pushed himself up and slowly onto his feet. The first few steps were the hardest. After that, he had only to keep moving, leaving her to nap on the warm sand before eventually – probably in a few hours – she would get up, and try again.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**Per request (and much nagging) from my cowriter, Tiggertoo, I shall continue posting this book in spite of the fact that it doesn't seem that many people are reading.**

She didn't bother with the disguise this time. Suzanne walked through the front door of Mr. Lee's shop, only seconds after the man who was likely to be their next client had left. Hannibal hid his amusement very carefully as he watched her skirt around the table full of odds and ends, piled high in organized chaos. She just never gave up.

"Sorry, we closed."

"Yes, I know," she said directly, never breaking her stride as she came closer. "And you know nothing about the A-Team. But I need you to get a message to Smith for me."

Well that explained the envelope she was setting on the counter. She stood still, watching him with a mask of professionalism, waiting for him to make a move. He eyed her first, then the envelope.

"What message?"

"He and I need to talk."  
"He no want to talk to you. He tell me himself tell you to go away." He shrugged as he turned away from her, walking towards the back of the store. "I not talk to you. Good bye."

"Listen here, Mr. Lee" The anger rang in her voice, professional or not. "My supervisor is willing to fly all the way to Los Angeles to talk to Smith because he wants answers to questions that I don't have. It took a lot of finagling to make that happen and before it does, I want to speak to him _alone_."

Hannibal paused, and slowly turned, careful to stay hunched in the guise of Mr. Lee, and studied her.

"I'm well aware he doesn't _want _to talk to me or my superiors." Her tone was cool once again, but her body language gave away the anger she was still feeling. "But I am proposing an equal exchange of information."

It was the fact that her voice had dropped lower that gave away just how much it had taken her to say that. He stopped, and turned slowly back to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. "What make you think you have information he want?"

Suzanne's eyebrow rose at that. She was more confident in this answer. "Because he's already asked me for it."

He gave a brief, mocking laugh. "That before you chase him all over town. Blow up his boat. Missy not know who she dealing with, I think."

Her eyes narrowed in on him. That intent stare was looking for something, assessing him. "Yes," she answered coldly. "And it was the fact that he was willing to blow up his own boat that convinced me I was getting nowhere with those methods. Which is why I am here now."

He watched her quietly, evaluating her as she folded her arms.

"Everything I have on him, for his side of the story."

She had folded her arms to hide the fact her hands were clenching into fist. Was she feeling defensive, backed into a corner? Or was she just trying something new?

His look turned to amusement. Time to push a few buttons and find out. "Missy got nothing on him that he not already know. And you ask for a lot."

That comment seemed to hit home. Her jaw clenched as she leaned forward, unfolding her arms, keeping her hands clenched into fist at her sides. "I'm risking my job for what I ask!"

"So?" He turned away again. "It good for him, you lose your job. Good bye, Suzy."

That name was all it took to tip her off. He'd known it was. But it was just so damn much _fun _to pull the cat's tail that he was ready to handle the consequences. They came fast. In a flash, she had her gun. "You son of a bitch!"  
He barely hid his laughter as he ducked around the thick bookshelves just a few feet from the back steps leading up to the loft above the store. He quickly removed the bits of the costume that were sure to be in his way, and grabbed the pistol out of the back of his belt as the first few rounds went through the bookshelf over his head.

"Aw, come on, Ms. Alvine. Or should I say Lansfield. What's a little masquerading between friends?"

"I want to know what the hell happen in that goddamned village, Smith!" He could hear the anger in her voice. Of course the rounds she was firing out helped drive that point home. As she stopped firing wildly, he could hear her moving, tripping her way through the store, changing position.

He looked up to the full length mirror positioned purposefully by the back steps. He could see her moving. It was a lot more than a hop, skip, and jump to get through the maze that was Mr. Lee's store. He'd made it that way on purpose, with a grin, and smile in place, he stood, turned and looked around the corner of the bookshelf at her, ready to duck back if she started shooting again.

"You know, you're strikingly attractive when you're angry."

Two more shots came in low. She either wasn't aiming to kill him, or she was a lousy shot. He suspected the former. When he ducked she was moving again, closing in on him. "Anyone ever tell you you're a pompous son of a bitch?"

He laughed at the sound of another shot. "It's been said at least once."

She was too busy being pissed off to count her bullets. Sooner or later she was going to run out. Besides, if she wanted to talk with him, she wanted him alive. He wasn't all that worried about being shot. He watched in the mirror as she grabbed the first thing she could grab off the counter – which ended up being a chipped vase – and threw it at the last place his head had been.

Her angry cry echoed in the sound of the exploding pottery. So was so mad she was sputtering. "This is not a fucking joke!"

A book whizzed past him, and then a wooden bowl. In the mirror he could see her moving again, throwing everything and anything she could reach. He laughed again, and tucked the gun back into his belt. He didn't need it. She wasn't providing any real threat. She was throwing a temper tantrum.

"Joke or not, it _is _pretty funny." He talked towards the wall, letting his voice bounce off of it, letting her think he was further away than he was. "You've gone through a lot of trouble just to throw vases at me."

"Damn you!"

As she came within striking distance, he moved, grabbing her wrists and pinning her back against the side of the bookshelf with a hard thud. The gun went off into the ceiling before he twisted it out of her hand and tossed it aside, pinning her hard.

"So tell me," he said low, smiling. "What are you _really _after, Suzy?"

Her face was a mask of fury. She was too mad to even attempt to speak. Instead, she went for a head butt. Suzy wasn't holding back, nice. If she'd connected, she probably would've broken his nose and a couple of teeth. Maybe even his upper jaw. Luckily, she didn't. Hannibal used her momentum and stepped aside, letting her stumble and then spinning her around, pushing her face first into the wall this time. She hit hard enough to lose her breath for a second.

He pulled her arms behind her as he put his lips close to her ear. "You know, Suzy, as a rule, I don't like to manhandle women. But you make it _very _easy to turn civil conversation into a contact sport."

"You? Civil conversation? That's the first funny thing I have ever heard you say."

"Is it?" he asked in mock confusion. "But you're not laughing."

"Believe me, I'm laughing on the inside."

She struggled violently, but it got her nowhere. As she calmed again, he pressed in close to her until he could feel the warmth of her body even through his shirt. "You should've gone for the knife, Suzy."

"I didn't want to deprive you of the opportunity." She was trying to sound threatening, but she failed. It was impossible with her breath coming so shallow.

Holding both her wrists with one of his much larger hands, he experimentally ran the palm of his other hand along her side, over her hip, and down to her thigh until he felt the band through her skirt that held the knife's sheath. He smiled to himself at the slight hitch in her breathing.

"Would you like me to get it for you, Suzy? Maybe you can use it to intimidate me into following your orders?" He leaned in closer, lips almost brushing her ear, watching for her response. "Because I certainly wouldn't need help getting you to follow mine."  
Nothing changed in her posture. The only indication that she even heard him was the shiver that he felt run down her spine. It was the quietest she had been since he'd met her. But he could feel her breath catch. If it wasn't for the fact he was pressed against her he would have missed it. He paused, looking at her curiously, leaving his hand right where it was, loosening the grip of his other slightly.

"Cat got your tongue, Suzy?"

The sudden, sharp intake of breath as his fingers brushed the bottom of her skirt made him smile. He didn't move his hand any further, just watching her, enjoying her reaction. She wanted him and she didn't even understand why.

"You really should think about getting an ankle holster, you know. It might be a little less awkward next time I disarm you."

Suzy seemed to be frozen underneath him. She didn't move; she didn't even breathe. It wasn't until he went to pull her knife free of its sheath that she reacted. Very suddenly, she jerked her arm free and twisted, jabbing an elbow into his stomach. Her other hand grabbed the butt of his gun, behind his back. Using leverage from the wall, she pushed him hard as she stumbled a few steps back. She was about ten feet from him when she stopped, gun held steady on him. Several deep breaths and he could see CIA agent Suzy take control again.

He toyed for a moment with the thought of his surroundings. There were enough weapons in this room – and he knew how to use them – that he wasn't exactly helpless. He knew of at least ten ways to kill her in five seconds even if she _did_ shoot him. But he was so accustomed to having and setting aside those thoughts that he barely acknowledged them. Besides, that gun was only going to do her any good if she wasn't willing to use it. He knew she wanted him alive.

"What are you going to do now, Suzy?" he asked, putting his hands up. "Shoot me?"

"Make a move towards me and I _will_ shot you."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He grinned.

"I came here to offer an even exchange," she said calmly. "Everything I know about what the Agency has on you in return for your side of the story. But you just can't do anything the easy way. I would think you'd jump at the opportunity to explain yourself."

"You would be wrong," he pointed out. He had absolutely no interest in explaining himself to her or whoever it was she'd gotten her orders from. The only interest he had at the moment was an assessment of the threat that the agency she represented might pose.

"Well, since you want to do it the hard way and you already have your hands up, guess I'll be taking you out of here in handcuffs."

He chuckled. "Now, I don't know that I'm feeling quite _that _cooperative."

"Sorry to hear that Smith, but your decision making privileges have been temporarily revoked."

She was moving slowly and carefully, keeping him in the gun sight as she made her way to the phone. He lowered his hands, and she didn't try to stop him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Suzy," he advised, nodding toward the phone.

"I know _you _wouldn't. And don't even _think _of doing something cute."

He had picked up the knife from the table next to him and flicked it in her direction in the same movement. It landed a half inch to the side of her hand where it was resting on the phone. Perhaps more importantly, it severed the line running from the wall. By the time she looked up, he already had a second smaller, rusted knife off of the table behind him. He'd known right where they were, even in the mess.

"Now, Suzy, I have no desire to use you for target practice." He smiled politely. "And we both know you won't shoot me. So how about we put our respective weapons down nice and easy."

She cocked the gun. "After you."

He chuckled. "Oh, I insist."

"Over my dead body."

"I'd rather not."

"You wouldn't have a chance."

"Don't underestimate me, Suzy. They train you a bit different for self defense in the Army than they do in the CIA."

"One shot, one kill, from what I hear. Except I'm the one holding the gun."

Hannibal smiled. "Not for long."

She growled as he leaned closer, not quite a step. "Drop the knife."  
"Ladies first."

"Don't make me drop _you_."

He smirked. "You wouldn't dare."

She didn't even blink, moving the barrel of the gun slightly, she pulled the trigger. He was stunned by the sound of the gunshot before he felt the pain. The bullet hit right where she had aimed – the upper part of the arm holding the knife. His hand tightened harder around the knife as the force of the bullet turned him slightly. He'd be damned if the well-cultivated survival instinct would permit him to let it go if he'd _wanted_ to.

As the pain registered, he found himself blinking at her, momentarily stunned. Had she just shot him? The pain would seem to be a clear indication that she had. That was... interesting.

"Drop the knife Hannibal," her voice was cold. "Or the next round goes in your ass." She gave him a small smile. "The idea of me causing the pain in_ your _ass for once seems somehow fitting."

He didn't have a chance to respond. The opening door - from the back and not the front - was a distinctive, creaky sound. He really needed to get those hinges oiled. He knew who it was, but he was still so caught off guard - was it safe to say that he was amused? - by the fact that she'd actually shot him, he had no real reaction to the intrusion. There was no thought to call out any kind of warning, and the sight that greeted Face and Murdock as they stepped into the shot must have been quite a shock.

Face's gun was out instantly and pointed at her just as soon as the scent of blood hit him. "Drop it," he warned her, low and serious. "Now!"

Suzanne rolled her eyes, muttered a soft, "Damn it," as she found herself looking down the barrels of two pistols. She put the gun on the counter and her hands went up without anyone having to tell her. There was an air of resigned calm about her. Like she wasn't the least bit surprised that once again, he was getting away.

It took Hannibal a minute to pull it together, and Face's abrupt, "Hannibal, are you alright?" did more than anything for snapping him out of it. He transferred the knife to his good hand, stuck it in the wooden table, and took a few steps toward her, picking up his gun where she'd set it down.

"Nice talking to you, Suzy."

He paused for a long moment to read her eyes. She was staring at him blankly, trying to see if this was some kind of trick. "You're letting me go?"

He chuckled softly. "Why wouldn't I? I certainly don't need you as a hostage."

Her eyes were a bit wider than normal. But she didn't speak again as he used his good arm to tuck the gun into the back of his pants again. He made a point of stopping to pick up the envelope she'd brought. He folded it into his back pocket as he walked between Murdock and Face to the back door, holding his hand over his bicep to try and stop the blood flow.

"Let's go, guys."


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

The bullet had gone clean through Hannibal's arm. Had it been a slightly smaller caliber, it might have counted as a graze. But bullets from a Colt 1911 had a tendency to make a big hole in whatever they hit. It wasn't quite enough to justify a hospital visit, but it was enough to cause a hell of a lot of blood flow.

If there had been any other place to perform a medical procedure, Face would have chosen it over this motel room. Dingy, tiny, and dirty - Face would be surprised if it had seen a healthy dose of bleach since the Nixon administration. He didn't want to touch anything, let alone close up Hannibal's arm in a place like this. But at the moment, it was the closest available safe place they had.

Hannibal took a seat in the desk chair while Murdock opened up the first aid kit. Face put on a pair of gloves before pulling away the blood-soaked shirt Hannibal was holding over the wound.

"You really know how to pick 'em," Face grumbled under his breath.

"I'm actually impressed," Hannibal said. "I didn't think she had it in her."

Face glared at him. Of course he would be amused. It shouldn't even be shocking at this point. He turned away and shrugged out of his coat, draping it on the bed. On his way to the sink, he slipped of his tie and rolled up his sleeves.

Murdock had the first aid kit open and was sorting out what would be needed. "Who was that woman?" he asked. "Your new lady friend?"

In the mirror over the sink, Face saw Hannibal grin. "Nice, huh?"

"I take it she was playing hard to get?"

"We're currently working on our communication skills."

Face grumbled under his breath. "I'll give you communication skills."

At least this place had soap. Of course it had probably been here for years since they'd replaced it, after last person who'd used it.

"I think you two need some more work. Want me to see if Richter can fit you in?"

"I don't know if we're quite ready for couples' therapy yet, Murdock. We have to _want_ to change first."

"I guess it all depends on what you're looking for in a woman. I like ladies who can dance. Face," Murdock jerked his thumb in Face's direction, "likes ladies with a pulse. You like lades who aren't afraid to fill you full of lead."

"Funny, Murdock," Face said dryly.

Murdock beamed. "And, of course, BA likes ladies who cuddle."

"Specifically," Hannibal said, "I prefer ones that don't aim for the heart. So see?" He smiled at Face in the mirror. "She's perfect!"

Face looked for a towel, spotted one on the rack that would probably defeat the purpose of having washed his hands in the first place, and decided to let them air dry. "You know, this isn't exactly all fun and games," he reminded them. "She just _shot _you."

"Oh, come on, Face. Learn to live a little."

"So where did you meet Ms. Perfect?" Murdock asked, interrupting any comeback Face might have made. "The local Guns-R-Us?"

"How about CIA headquarters," Face answered. "Where she was handed a file on him."

"What?" Murdock's eyes were back to saucers again. "You got the warm fuzzies for a spook?"

"I don't know if I'd call it warm fuzzies."

"What would you call it?" Face snapped.

Hannibal was still grinning at Face. "What's the matter, Lieutenant? You sound bitter."

"Me? Bitter?" Face's voice rang with sarcasm. "I've just destroyed my car, fished you out of the ocean after you _blew up_ my boat - which I am still trying to explain, by the way - and now you've left a blood trail all over the car I was just _borrowing_!"

Hannibal was beaming. "Isn't it exciting?"

Face growled audibly as he grabbed the needle and thread and looked at the first aid kit. What hurt worse, rubbing alcohol or peroxide?

"She sounds like a keeper, Colonel," Murdock said. "But you may wanna see about upping your insurance coverage."

"_His_ insurance coverage!" Face cried.

Murdock didn't look at him. He was busy grinning at Hannibal. "It's hard to find a woman who's willing to shoot you, but not kill you."

Hannibal's smile made it clear just how proud he was of his great find. Face took a second to glare at him as he finished threading the needle and set it down again in a capful of peroxide. Murdock had the bottle ready to go, and the empty ice bucket under Hannibal's arm. Face pulled on a clean pair of gloves and moved the shirt.

Hannibal flinched at the clear fluid on the open wound, teeth clenched, but didn't otherwise react. He kept his arm still as it fizzed and drained with the blood into the bucket.

"So did she shoot you for any particular reason?" Murdock asked. "Or is this just her way of saying howdy?"

Hannibal glanced at Murdock. "I think it was her idea of a polite suggestion."

Murdock moved the gauze to sop up the worst of the blood so that Face could see as he picked through the wound, pulling out the bits of material that had gotten lodged in the flesh.

"This is polite? Hate to see her when she's mad."

Hannibal chuckled. "Oh, she's fun when she's mad. Like a wet kitten."

"You know, for safety's sake," Murdock said, "you may wanna consider her suggestion." "Ordinarily, I would. Except her suggestion involved handcuffs and a trip to Langely."

Murdock frowned. "Why's the CIA looking to take you for a trip back to the mother ship?"

"Oh, you'll love this, Murdock," Face said dryly.

He didn't bother explaining further. Instead, he tossed the forceps with the last of the material onto the table and grabbed the needle and thread. Bullets never left a clean wound. And with a forty caliber, it was good Hannibal was enjoying this; he'd have the reminder for the rest of his life.

"Seems they're a little confused about some orders we received back in Vietnam," Hannibal said. "According to Suzanne, they want me to clear it up for them."

"They think a wanted fugitive can clear it up?" Murdock asked, confused. "Colonel, I'm barking mad and that doesn't even make sense to me."

"Me neither. Which is why I'm less than enthusiastic about taking her up on the offer of a free vacation."

Both of them were watching as Face sutured the wound closed. He was no surgeon, but it wasn't exactly his first time, either.

"I don't think she's gonna give up tryin' to sell you on that," Murdock said, the worry just hinted in his voice. "She seems to be the determined type."

"Suzanne, determined?" Face glanced up at Murdock as the captain wiped up some more blood. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Murdock smiled. "The fact that she shot him was my first major clue."

Face rolled his eyes as he finally pulled the last of the stitches tight and cut off the thread. "Alright." He tossed everything down on the table that was a bloody mess at this point, and peeled the gloves off his hands carefully. "So we all agree, at _this _point that Suzanne is a problem, right?"

"Yeah," Murdock agreed. "Because there's only so many places you can be shot before it becomes an issue."

Face turned to Hannibal, just waiting for him to object. Instead, Hannibal was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, it was a little less casual and carefree. "She can only keep this up for so long. And the client I talked to today - if he checks out - is going to mean a week or so in Alaska."

Ordinarily, Face would have been less than thrilled about Alaska. But right now, the further they were from Suzanne, the better.

"She can only be as determined as her bosses will allow her to be." Hannibal sighed. "My only concern is that whatever the Agency wants to chat with me about, it may be important enough for them to send someone bigger and badder."

"Or someone who aims for the vital areas?" Murdock suggested.

Hannibal nodded, actually serious for once. "Yeah."

Face's eyes narrowed. The rant he had ready to go when Hannibal once again decided to blow off the legitimacy of this problem was suddenly useless. Instead of speaking, he simply stood there and crossed his arms.

"I need to know what this is about," Hannibal continued, pulling his arm back into his lap. "Right now, I only have a vague idea, based on what she _told_ me. And what she told me was rather emotional. It's hard to tell if it has anything to do with what her superiors are thinking. It could just be that they know how to use her."

Face considered that quietly. Hannibal was right; Suzanne was a problem, but she wasn't _the _problem. "Taking on the CIA," he let out a deep breath, "is a dangerous game for everyone."

Murdock frowned. "The CIA doesn't play by any rules, and there real good at gettin' what they want."

"It's considerably less dangerous if we know what they want." Hannibal paused. "I'm pretty sure I can get that information out of Suzy - at least to the extent that she knows it. I'm not sure what kind of luck I'll have with her successors."

He reached very carefully into his pocket with his good arm, and moved as little as possible as he opened a folded envelope. It was the one he'd grabbed from the shop. Face watched him silently as he ripped it open. "If I read her right, she's got her own set of rules. And she _does _seem to follow them."

"Even if Suzy decides her rules line up with ours," Face sighed, "it doesn't do us a damn bit of good. She's a messenger."

Hannibal unfolded the paper carefully and stared at it. Reading it. "I need to know what she knows. What the agency really has, and what they're after." He glanced up at Face. "It's surprising that you and BA aren't included in this little 'hit.'"

It was surprising. Face had done more than his fair share of expecting an agent to drop on him any given moment. He'd done more evasive driving and doubling back in the last week than in the past six months. Hell, since he'd heard about her, he hadn't even stayed in the same place for more than two nights in a row. The change in the car he was driving was not expected and certainly not planned, but it had the fortunate side effect – the _only _fortunate side effect – of making him harder to track. It simply didn't make any sense that he _wouldn't _be on the radar.

"Our status with the law doesn't lend itself to their undying faith in your ability to follow orders," Face said. "Including sharing information with the rest of your team. Whatever they want with you, it has nothing to do with intel being slipped on a ten year old mission."

"No." Hannibal paused. "Which is why I need to meet with her and find out what she's got. Because either she's not going to go away, or they're going to send someone else who's more of a threat. In either case, the more I can get out of her, the better."

Face studied him for a long moment. "I'm going to assume you have a plan for that?"

Hannibal looked back up at him, and grinned.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was more than mildly aware of the potential for a trap in this scenario. "Out in the open," like her letter had suggested, didn't really work for him. Instead, he chose to position himself by the trees in the park, with a straight shot - 20 yards - to the car and his gun in easy reach. He appeared casual. He wasn't. He was acutely aware of everything that moved, and the exact angle he'd have to use to get a shot on any of it. Or maybe more accurately, since he had no intention of shooting anyone dead, the angle "it" would have on him.

He saw her pull up, in a taxi and smiled to himself at the recollection of what had happened to her own car. As promised in the letter, she was alone. Her tight smile as she approached made it perfectly obvious that she was just as wary of him as he was of her.

"Colonel Smith," she greeted politely.

He nodded. "Suzanne."

He could tell by the flicker in her eyes that she noticed the use of her full name, but she wasn't sure what to do with it. Good. For the time being, the more off balance she was, the better. He eyed her for a long moment, using the silence to keep her from getting confident. She did a good job at covering her unease, but he noticed the way she shifted her weight and glanced around.

Finally he gestured towards the nearby picnic table in invitation. "Please."

Suzanne turned towards the table and carefully chose a seat, on the edge where she could easily get away from the table if she needed to.

"What's the matter, Suzy?" He grinned. "Afraid I'm not going to hold up my end of this 'friendly conversation'?"

"It always pays to be careful."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. She was trying for cool and casual, but the tension in her jaw and the slightly clipped words gave her away. She was anxious. His smile broadened as he reached into his pocket for a cigar, then leaned on the edge of the table with his hip. He didn't sit down – no need to get too comfortable. Besides, he could tell by the way she squirmed that his presence looming over her would have an effect.

He was quiet while he lit his cigar. Then he looked at her expectantly. "So, Suzy. Do you have something to tell me or not?"

She hesitated. Her smile held no trace of amusement. "What is it you want to know?"

"What's your assignment?"

"To establish contact and arrange a meeting between my boss and you." Her reply was instant and practiced.

He smiled to himself. "Yes, I know _that_."

"You're the one asking the questions." She shrugged.

He took a few puffs on his cigar, and left it in the corner of his mouth as he crossed his arms loosely over his chest. "Perhaps I need to be more specific. What are the _details_ of your assignment? What does the Agency want with me?"

"You know the mission they want to talk to you about. What else would you like to know?"

"Just start talking. I'll tell you when to stop."

There was a pause as she reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Pulling one from the pack, she held between her fingers, not yet lighting it. "You parted ways with the Agency on bad terms. They want to talk to you about what happened. I was informed their records show some inconsistencies and they believe you can clear them up." Her words were business like, but he could see the effort it took on her part to maintain that air.

"Inconsistencies?" He laughed. "To hear you tell it, my team and I committed cold blooded murder. What's the inconsistency?"

She lit her cigarette and took a deep inhale. "To see it on paper, you did," her voice was flat. "Maybe that's why they want to see you – to clarify your side of the story."

He gave a slight, humorless laugh at that. "That may well be where _your _interests lie, Suzy. But I doubt that the Agency shares your ambition for uncovering the truth on that mission."

She exhaled sharply at that. Something flashed in her eyes just for a second and was gone, replaced by a hard stare. "You're right. It is what I want."

"And since I'm not interested in what you want, maybe you can share with me what _they _want. Since that _is _of interest to me."

"I don't know what they want."

"I don't believe you."

"Then I'm not sure what you want me to say. I'm not going to be able to convince you otherwise."

"No. You're not."

She glared at him, too intensely to be professional. "All I want is your side of the story, Smith."

"So you can do what with it?" he challenged, standing up straighter. "It's not going to do much for getting you that promotion."

"What I do with it is my business." That emotion was back in her eyes and she was a bit too rough in how she flicked her ashes.

"It's not going to get you any closer to a successful mission, either."

"Oh, I still have every intention of completing my mission. But at this particular moment, that's not why I'm here."

He contemplated that for a moment, and watched her. If she was lying, she was doing a damn good job of it. If she knew more, she wasn't going to offer it willingly. He'd have to go beyond this "friendly conversation."

"Where's the file, Suzy?"

She raised a brow as she took another drag. "What file?"

"Your case file," he clarified. "On me."

She stared at him. He could tell she was shocked at the prospect that he would actually ask for that. It took her a few minutes to come to terms with what he actually _was _asking. He could tell when the connection was made, because her eyes went cold. "That would get me fired, Smith."

He didn't react to that in the slightest. "Not my problem."

"Actually, it's one and the same."

"How so?" He raised a brow. "You don't tell me what I want to know, I walk away. You do tell me, I decide whether or not to cooperate with you. Either way, you've got a problem. And either way, I don't."

Suzanne exhaled a thin stream of smoke, eyeing him for a moment. "Let me ask you something."

"By all means."

"When has the CIA ever _not _gotten their way?"

He chuckled. "The day I walked away from their bullshit."

She didn't flinch. "You say you won't play ball until you know exactly what they want, which I can't tell you. But if you don't play ball, they will still get their meeting. It just won't be on such friendly terms."

"Is that your way of saying you're not willing to share your information with me?"

"I'm not handing you that file," she said firmly. "It would mean my job if I even entertained that idea."

"Well in that case," he stepped away from the table, "I don't think we have anything more to discuss. Have a nice day, Suzanne."

He only made it two steps before she called after him. He knew she would. It wasn't hard to call her bluff when he knew how badly she wanted this.

"You know this only gets worse, right?" She was on her feet, crushing out her smoke then taking a few quick steps until she was in front of him. "I'm trying to help you here."

"I told you what I want. Past that, I have no interest in your help."

"I've already told you what's in the file."

"I want to see it."

He could see the debate, the fear and indecision. The frustration that was ringing clearly in her voice. How badly did she want to know? She was the one who'd called him here, after all.

"It's at the motel."

Her tightly clenched jaw stood at direct odds with her detached tone. That statement had cost her. Pride, security, or control – or maybe all of the above.

He raised a brow. "Motel? I thought they fixed you up with a nice little apartment."

"They did," she answered dryly. "But after your demolitions demonstration with my car, we figured it was safer to relocate."

He smiled. "How does Luke feel about sharing a bed in a cheap motel?"

She glared at the insinuation. "A _room_," she clarified. "Not a bed. And you'll have to ask him."

"Will I get the opportunity?"

"Is it really _necessary_?"

"No. But it might be fun."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Your fun will have to wait. He's currently dealing with the Coast Guard and the _mess _you made in the ocean."

That meant he wasn't at the motel. Hannibal actually would've guessed as much, actually. What she was doing wasn't protocol, in any sense of the word. What she was _willing _to do was an even further stretch. Given that the Agency wasn't known for putting their people in pairs to begin with it wasn't likely that she trusted him enough to let him be a witness as she put her career on the line.

"Alright," he finally agreed. He nodded, and gestured to the parking lot. "Let's take my car, shall we? Since yours is still in the shop."

"Thank you for that, by the way," she snapped at him. "I got that car for my graduation."

"Heathrow High School in Columbus, Ohio?" He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Because I didn't find any _college _transcripts on file for you."

"Class of 73." She said, not giving him anything he didn't already know – nothing more than what her bogus history recorded on paper.

He smiled, and opened the door for her, then crossed to the driver's side. "I'd like you to put your handgun on the floor for now. Just until we get to where we're going."

She watched him as he waited for her to comply. "And what about yours?"

He withdrew the pistol tucked into the back of his pants and held it in view as he waited. She smirked. "No need for posturing, Colonel."

She paused with her 9-mil Beretta in plain view for a moment before placing it on the floor. He leaned forward and tucked his own under the seat before turning the ignition over and pulling out of the parking space. "Now. Which direction to this motel?"


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

It took almost twenty minutes to go four blocks - and not because of the traffic. It took another five minutes of waiting in the street, watching the parking lot. Suzanne sat back and just watched. It would be pointless to tell him that he had nothing to worry about. The fact of the matter was, he had everything to worry about even on the best of days. Hell, she was only one of the many threats he was facing at any given moment. He had every right and reason to be paranoid, and it was quite obvious why he was still wearing street clothes instead of olive drab and shackles.

Finally, he shut the car off, grabbed his gun from under the seat, and tucked it back into his pants as he opened the door. She let him get out first. It was about time. She reached down and grabbed her gun, eyeing him to see if he was going to say anything about it. "Second floor," she said. "Room 204."

He gestured for her to go first. "Lead the way."

She smiled at him, not at all surprised by that as she took the lead. "Rest easy, Colonel. I'm not breaching protocol here so that we can both wind up in handcuffs."

"Suzanne, this is about as relaxed as you will ever see me."

His tone was light, but the words were serious at the same time. For once, he wasn't trying to push her buttons, and she didn't make any effort to push back. She reached for her key as they approached the room, and stalled for a moment before she turned back to him, the key held up between her fingers.

"You want the honors?"

He smiled. "No, by all means."

He was too busy scanning the nearby rooms for anything that looked like it could possibly be movement. And she wouldn't have really expected him to walk in first anyways. After all, there was no way for him to know what was waiting for him inside.

"I have to warn you," she said as she slipped the key into the lock, "this is a shockingly mundane hotel room."

He let her enter first, checked all around him once more, then followed her inside. She walked as he checked all the corners inside, too, and walked immediately to the bathroom to make sure there was _really _no one else in the room. Finally, he turned towards the window, and opened the curtains just slightly as he took up a position near it, arms loosely crossed.

"No wonder you have grey hair," she grinned.

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She took a few steps to the fridge in the corner. "Drink, Colonel?" she asked as she grabbed a ginger ale for herself and cracked the top open.

He smiled. "I'm here for your folder. Not your hospitality."

She eyed him warily, and tossed him a ginger ale anyway. "They aren't mutually exclusive."

He caught it, and stared at it for a moment before opening the top. It hissed as it opened, and he watched her as he took a small sip. "Where's the folder?"

She finished closing the fridge and put her keys on the dresser next to it before turning to face him again. For a moment, they stood staring at each other, neither willing to break the silence. Then, finally, she opened the top drawer of the dresser. "If I lose my job over this, I will find a way to make you pay." She meant every word of that.

He eyed her passively, not bothering to answer that threat. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she withdrew the briefcase, unlocked it, and hesitated for a slight moment before handing over the two-inch-thick manila folder.

Smith probably could've spent hours going through the contents of that file. Inside was every piece of documentation - and a not-inconsiderable amount of personal testimony - on the Agency work he had done in Vietnam. Leaning against the wall, he spent several minutes skimming through it. Assignments he probably didn't remember, and ones she was sure he did.

"So who sent you on this little expedition?"

She studied him warily. That was most definitely need-to-know. Of course, so was everything in that file. "The order came down from Richard Ekhart."

Smith looked up abruptly. "Who's that?"

"He was recently promoted to section chief. A lot of people don't like him. I have no particular opinion one way or the other."

"He give you any idea why the sudden interest in seeing me brought to justice?" He went back to the folder.

"He's done a fair amount of house cleaning since he assumed his current position. You're just one of what I imagine are many."

Smith thumbed through the papers, one at a time. Finally, he looked back up at her. "Okay. So the Agency keeps very good records. And you do very good research. But the contents of that folder don't really tell me anything I don't already know."

"I never said that they would," she reminded him. "_You _were the one who wanted to see the file."

"So if this is all you have, how is it that you're hoping to persuade me to come with you in handcuffs back to Langley?"

She sighed, and shook her head in frustration at him. "You have what I have. What do you want, for me to start making things up?"

"Where's _your _orders?"

She stared at him. "I told you my orders."

"Where's the paperwork?"

"In a filing cabinet somewhere. Why the _hell _would I be carrying that around with me? Do you have any idea how dangerous that would be?"

His eyes narrowed at her. "What I want isn't in there, Suzy."

"Well, what I want isn't exactly on the table, either. I'm willing to settle for an explanation from you. Is that really so much to ask?" She needed to hear his side, to know _why_.

"We were given orders to hit that village," he shot at her. The force of his statement caught her off guard. "To TWEP every man, woman, and child in it."

"TWEP?"

"Terminate with extreme prejudice," he clarified. His eyes were as cold as his tone. "Some idiot gave a VC plant access to intelligence information that would've wiped out damn near the entire network. When he ran, that was the village he went to. There was no telling how many people he'd shared his information with and any one of them would've meant the extermination of our assets. So they called me."

She stared. _My God…. _Terminate every man, woman, and child because of one idiot's fuck up? It took her a moment to find her voice again. "Why you?"

"Why not?" he demanded. That cold anger sent a chill down her spine. "It was a sticky situation they didn't want anyone finding out about. We were General Westman's go-to guys for sticky situations in general. We were the best and most trusted."

"What about the children?"

His expression was unreadable. "What about them?"

"If they told you to kill everyone and you didn't kill the children, you violated your orders."

His eyes narrowed into slits and he glared at her. "I did. And if your boss has a problem with that, you can tell him to kiss my ass."

"Tell him yourself." It wasn't an order. It was an appeal. He had to see how wrong this was.

He tossed the folder on the dressed, and the papers slid out of it as it landed, in an array across the table. "No thanks."

"If that's really what happened, _someone _can validate your story," she continued, undeterred. "Who gave you the orders?"

"I don't remember. And I don't care."

"Well, somebody remembers."

"Then go find them. It's not my problem."

"I'll need your help to find them."

"Sorry. I can't help you."

She could feel her frustration mounting as she stepped in closer to him. "_Someone _needs to pay for what happened to those people."

"Why?" he demanded. "Because it's on your guilty conscience? It's not on mine."

"Because it was wrong!"

"It was _war_, Suzanne!"

"They were still human beings." Even she was startled by the intensity in that statement.

His eyes narrowed at her. "You know, you really ought to learn the difference between human beings and enemies or you're _never _going to get out from behind that desk."

There was no thought. With one hand, she slapped him. With the other, she grabbed his arm just above the wrist. She had it cuffed before he could react. Her practiced efficiency would've allowed her to twist his arm behind his back if she'd just had a little more strength to put into it. But in the fraction of a second it took for her to figure out she had to pull harder, he had twisted his wrist out of her grasp and suddenly, the two of them were cuffed together.

"Not nice, Suzy."

She growled, jerking her hand away from him although clearly, it wasn't going to do any good. "You're a bastard, you know that?"

"I suppose this is the part where you tell me you really _are _stuck behind a desk. Until they sent you out on this bogus assignment – _with_ a partner to hold your hand – so you could do petty police work and serve a warrant."

She pulled back her right arm, against the cuffs - not caring in the least how much it hurt her wrist as long as it threw him off balance. In that moment where he stumbled towards her, she threw a solid left hook. It was textbook - coming in high and at a downward angle.

He stumbled slightly, but still managed to catch her wrist. More than that, in a flash he had her pinned to the wall. "Now that's _really _not nice."

She growled. "Keep it up and I'll show you not nice."

"That could be interesting."

She struggled to pull her hands free once more before she gave up on that idea. He was annoyingly stronger than she was, no matter what her training.

Her eyes bore into him, wishing she could kill with her stare alone. "Try it," she dared him.

He watched her eyes, unmoving. "Try what?"

So fucking innocent. But she _knew _he had a plan. He always had a plan. "Whatever the hell it is you're thinking."

He answered in a whisper. "I'm not thinking anything." A slight smile crossed his lips. "What are _you _thinking?"

"Nothing you'd be too fond of right now."

"Try me."

She locked her eyes on him, trying to read him, to get past that aggravating, mischievous glint that was always there. Try me? What the hell was that supposed to mean anyway? Jaw clenched tight, she let out a sharp frustrated exhale through her nose, but refused to give him any more.

"Can I ask you something, Suzanne?"

"Can I really stop you right now?"

He shrugged. "We can stand here all day as far as I care. I've got nowhere to be."

She glared at him.

He waited, neither tightening nor loosening his grip.

She glared some more.

Finally, she forced some of the tension out of her body, hoping that he would relax a bit. Just as soon as he let her off of that wall, she was going to… Well, she wasn't really sure what she was going to do yet. But it was going to hurt.

"How long are we going to do this?" she demanded.

"Tell me something."

She raised her brow at him, a silent invitation to ask whatever it was that he wanted to know so badly.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Her brow furrowed at that for a moment. It was not the question she had been expecting. "Should I be?"

"Fear's not always a rational emotion."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Are you sure?" He smirked slightly. "You're in a rather compromised position right now."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Just stating the obvious."

"I think you are a lot of things, Colonel. None of them prevented me from brining you to my motel room."

He raised a brow, but his tone wasn't mocking as he continued. "What things am I Suzy?"

"On which side of the line?"

He smiled. "Which line?"

Her eyes narrowed at him. "You asked me a question. You want an answer? Stop playing word games."

He shook his head slightly. "Just trying to figure out what you meant."

"You're a bright boy, Colonel. Don't play me for a fool."

"A fool?" He smiled again, reeking of confidence. "I'd never think that. Though the powers that be who prevail over wisdom and sense might have something to say about you bringing a man into your hotel room who _does _play both sides of the line."

She let a small smile pull at the corner of her mouth. "Looks like you just answered your own question."

He leaned in closer to her, tipping his head slightly until his nose almost touched the side of hers. "That you're not afraid of me? Or that you're a fool..."

She lowered her voice, playing on his tone. "Take your pick, Colonel."

He leaned in a bit further, letting his nose touch hers, lips barely brushing as he nuzzled her gently. "Take yours."

She closed her eyes as a sudden, unexpected feeling gripped her womb. She could feel the warmth of his breath, and the sudden, unexpected intensity of the situation took her completely by surprise. "I made my stand years ago," she breathed, well aware of the shudder that was clearly audible in her voice.

He pulled back slightly, enough to meet her eyes again. "So did I."

Eyes locked, hardly breathing. "And there we have it," she barely whispered.

She watched him, searching him, but found no genuine threat. Even in this precarious situation, even as he leaned in closer to her, there was no hint of fear. She couldn't help but respond as his lips brushed hers in a light, barely-there kiss. Her breath was caught in her chest, her brain reeling against itself as he held her there, letting the kiss move at its own pace, slow and lingering. He eased off the pressure on the wrist he was holding to the wall, and moved his hand gently, an inch at a time, from her wrist all the way down to her elbow. She didn't resist him, letting him take control of things as her more and more of her brain was taken over by sensations she hadn't expected to find here. His lips on hers, demanding more attention with each passing second until hers finally parted, letting him lead without resistance.

His feet didn't move, but his hips pulled back slightly as he took the pressure off of her lower body, still kissing her - deeper with each second that passed and every hint of a response from her. He moved his hand all the way to her shoulder, then along the side of her neck. His fingers slid back into her hair and tightened just enough for her to feel it, tipping her head the way he wanted it as he licked her lips and then slowly penetrated her mouth.

A soft moan escaped her. Sensations she couldn't control flooded through her. He let the kiss deepen, tasting and feeling and controlling her. Then, slowly, he withdrew. She opened her eyes to see him watching her as he slowly ran his fingers down the side of her neck.

"Where's the key to the handcuffs, Suzy?"

She blinked, startled by the question. "What? Key?"

"Yes," he answered, lifting the hand that was attached to hers. "The key."

The reality of the situation suddenly hit her. How the _hell _had she let that happen? Without answering him, she quickly moved her right leg to the outside and behind his left leg. In a moment, he was on the ground, pulling her with him. He rolled in an effort to pin her - but without proper use of his cuffed hand, he couldn't get the leverage to stop himself. They wrestled, over and under, until they hit the bed frame. There, he used his free hand to hold himself up, his cuffed one to hold her wrist down as he smiled.

"You know, Suzy," he teased, "the bed is a lot more comfortable if you just wanted to roll around."

She growled as she put the bottom of her foot on top of his knee. Pushing him off balance and rolling again, she tried to keep her free hand out of his grip. There was surprising little she could do while she was cuffed to him.

"Not that I mind the floor…"

They tumbled one over the other all the way to the table near the door, this time. He was playing with her, and she hated it. He was stronger and they both knew it. The "rough and tumble" was his idea of fun.

The chair fell back against the heating unit with a loud crack, and he almost winced when his back hit the table leg, full force. He was out of room to keep going, and lying somewhere between his back and his side. She was on her knees instantly, throwing that left cross again, driving her fist so hard that she was actually aiming for the floor.

He took it. Then he pushed off the table and drove her onto her back again. She gave a yelp of surprise as his lips were suddenly crushing hers again. But her hand was free. And he wasn't watching it. She reached into her pocket, grabbed the syringe, flicked the cap off, and jabbed the needle into him as hard as she could. Best case scenario, she got his ass, or maybe his thigh. But as long as she got him, she didn't really care where.

She knew he felt it. But he didn't immediately acknowledge it. Instead, he simply finished the kiss and pulled back slowly, looking down at her. "Interesting weapon, Suzy. I guess it's easier to miss on a pat down."

She pulled the syringe out of his flesh and threw it to the other side of the room. "I told you not to play me for a fool."

He laughed. If his confidence was shaken by the fact that he knew he'd just been drugged, it didn't show. His eyes were dancing as he leaned down and pressed his lips against her ear. "If you were a fool, I wouldn't be here. I would've shoved you out the door with a few party favors and that would've been the end of it. Just like every other cop and client and beautiful woman."

"I'm flattered," she lied.

"You should be. I'm here because you're _not _a fool."

"Good," she dismissed. She was already trying to squirm out from under him. "Now, would you like to collapse on the floor, or get up and sit on that bed you seem to be so fond of?"

He pulled away enough to smile down at her. "Only if you'll join me," he teased.

She smirked at him. "You think _way _too highly of yourself, Smith. But just this once," she pulled on the cuff to make her statement, "I'll make an exception."

He smiled and pushed himself up. "You should be aware that my team might not find quite as much amusement in this as I do. They're going to come after you. And they will find you."

"That's not my problem." She allowed herself a smile, she had won this round. Finally. And she had every intention of reveling in her success.

He sat down on the bed, moving until his back was against the headboard. Like it or not, he pulled her down into his lap and held her there, saying nothing more. She didn't bother fighting him. He was done until he woke up, and he knew it. He was just trying to get as much of a last word in as he could possibly hope for.

"Does this take the sting out of things a bit?"

He smiled. "I like women who play hard to get."

"Mmm. Except I'm not playing." She pointed out.

"Sure you are." He leaned into her again, to whisper in her ear. His breathing was deepening. "You just don't know it yet."

She ran a finger down to his chest as he leaned into her, she couldn't help but smile. Even now, when he knew he was on the losing end of things he had every smug answer in the book. It didn't matter though. "So what sort of embarrassing position should I stage you in for when my backup arrives?"

He chuckled as he leaned back, and closed his eyes with a smile. "Any one you want. I'm sure it will be interesting to explain, given that this is your motel room."

She beamed as she patted the palm of her hand against his chest, watching the drug take effect. "Nobody knows this is my motel room. As far as everyone will be concerned, you came here with a whore and had a very unfortunate accident."

He smiled. "Hmm… I like your style, Suzy."

"Yes. Well, you might reconsider that come morning, Colonel."

Without another word, he turned his head to the side, and let it drop.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

Hannibal moaned softly as he fought his way back to consciousness. Where was he? Was he asleep? What was he doing sleeping? And why did he have such a splitting headache?

Something was wrong. He could smell it in the air. This was not his room, his apartment, or his bed. He fought through the layers of memories, through a growing awareness that something was very wrong. But he couldn't think. There was only fog.

He was cramped, as if he hadn't moved in hours. He tried to turn onto his side, to pull his arms in. They didn't move, and a dull pain on his wrists made his eyes snap open. What the hell? Motel room. Not his own. He was tied, spread eagle, on the bed.

Aw, hell.

Naked and cold from the blasting air conditioner, his thoughts were simple. Along with a growing awareness of just how _bad _this was, there was anger and indignation in equal amounts. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen. She - and possibly her partner - were supposed to take him away. And the team was supposed to find out about it just as soon as he crossed that 10 mile radius. He knew she _wanted _to get him to her superiors. So where the hell was she?

"Suzanne!" he called angrily, just in case she was still there. He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. With an angry growl, he pulled himself up as much as he could. Cuffs on his wrists and ropes on his ankles. "Damn it!"

He was going to get even with her for this. But first he had to get out of here. If she'd stripped him, she'd found that transmitter. Whether she'd destroyed it or set it aside was of little consequence. One way or another, it wouldn't be going with him.

He fell back again, closed his eyes, and breathed deep a few times. No sense getting angry right now. He had bigger and more important things to think about than what he was going to do when he got his hands on her. First he had to figure out how in the hell he was supposed to get his hands out of these cuffs.

She'd gone for backup. If she'd been smart, she would've had them on standby. No way she could've possibly expected to carry him out of here on her own. But two hours was a hell of a long time. Had she gone three counties over to get her help? Of course, it wasn't like he was going anywhere. She didn't need to hurry on his account.

How long would it take her to get back? He considered it as he pulled on the cuffs, testing to see how much room he had to maneuver. The bed was only a double. They had some give. Hell of a lot of good it was going to do him. He hadn't the slightest idea where the key was. She'd probably taken it with her. No way he had anything within his grasp to pick the lock with, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to twist his hand around enough to do it. No way he'd break the cuffs off the metal post of the headboard. He was trapped.

He glanced at the clock again, anxiously. Unwelcome guests of the law enforcement variety would be coming through that door any moment now. He didn't even want to think about that. He certainly wasn't in any position to defend himself.

There was a phone next to the clock. No way the cuffs had enough give for him to reach it. He pulled, just to see how close he could get. His fingertips barely brushed the twisted cord from the handset. He flicked it, setting it swinging, and kept it going a little further every time until finally, he could get his fingers tangled in it.

The cuffs were bruising his wrists where he was pulling on them. He gave them some slack as he carefully pulled the phone by the cord. The receiver came off the hook, and he pulled it onto the bed. The phone itself was heavier, and he winced as it clattered off the ledge and fell between the bedside table and the mattress. He was done for if that cord came disconnected.

It didn't.

He pulled the phone closer and wretched his arm around to touch the buttons. Dialing was tricky, and the fact that he knew he had to hurry didn't help. But finally the phone was ringing. He sighed with relief at the distant voice that finally answered.

There was no way to bring the receiver closer. He'd have to yell to be heard, and he wouldn't understand any reply. But it was enough. With a calm bred through years of practice and a commanding tone he'd perfected decades ago, he raised his voice towards the phone. "Face, I am at the Motel Six in Van Nuys, room 204, and I need you here, now."

*X*X*X*

Face had burned rubber to get from Woodview to Van Nuys. Still it seemed like forever. Hannibal had given no details, but with a call like that, it couldn't be good. It didn't help that he was wrapped up in this crazy game he seemed to be playing with the Agency woman. He probably would've picked up BA for reinforcement if it wouldn't have cost him precious time.

Motel Six, room 204. The parking lot was nearly empty. Face circled around the back to park, and did a quick survey of the layout before he headed up to the room. No way to see through the curtains. He tried the door but found it locked. He'd expected as much. Hesitant and uneasy about the entire situation, he knocked on the door. "Hannibal?"

"In here, Face," the voice came back through the door. "It's clear."

Despite the "all clear," Face still took the time to grab his gun as he slipped his lock picks back into his jacket pocket. He opened the door slowly, expecting the worst as he took a step into the room where he suddenly stopped dead. For a moment, he wasn't sure if what he was seeing was truly hilarious, or if it was in fact serious. Finally he shut the door as the laughter began spilling out of him.

"Glad you find this amusing, Lieutenant," Hannibal said dryly. "But you'd better get it out of your system quickly because it probably won't be long before the reinforcements arrive."

"Oh," Face laughed. "The reinforcements. I thought this was a solo act."

He tucked the gun into the back of his pants as he made his way towards the bed. He stood there for a moment just smiling.

"I gotta say, this is absolutely priceless."

Hannibal glared at him. "She drugged me. I figured we'd be on our way to the airport. _This _was unexpected. But who knows who she's gonna come back with."

Face raised his brow, his arms crossed in a very patronizing fashion. "So, she was alone?"

Hannibal continued to glare. "Mind getting me out of these cuffs, Lieutenant?"

He patted himself down. "You know, I may have left my lock picks in the car."

Hannibal gave him a smile that was anything but humorous. "I hope not. Because we're running out of time here. I don't know where she went. And I don't know when she'll be back, or who with."

Face pulled his lock picks out of his jacket and made a show of choosing which one to use. "Gee, Hannibal. If one girl managed to do this to you, I might just have to get the Barbie dolls and My Little Pony toys to ward off -"

"_Enough_, Lieutenant." He was genuinely irritated. That much was very clear by the tone of his voice.

Face smirked, but didn't say anything more as he worked at the cuff. It only took him a minute or so to get the cuff unlatched. "Well, at least she arranged for a comfy mattress instead of those cardboard cutout ones at the stockade."

Hannibal rotated his wrist, flexing his fingers a few times to get the blood circulating again.

"You know –" Face moved to the other side of the bed. "I gotta say, I don't think there has been one time that I've wound up naked on a bed with any of Lynch's plants."

"She's not one of Lynch's plants."

"Oh, I know. But you're the one always warning me to be careful, lest I get caught. Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

"I'll be interested to see who she comes back with," Hannibal said, changing the topic abruptly. "Though I don't want to do it from inside this room. The roof, maybe."

Face got the other cuff unlatched and looked at him. The amusement at the entire situation still glowing. "So this was a worthwhile endeavor?"

Hannibal brought his arm in and rubbed his wrist. "Very funny, Lieutenant."

"What?" he asked innocently, on the verge of laughter again. He shrugged, still smiling., "I have no problem with this. Hell, I have a free pass until you have to uncuff me from a bed because of some 'harmless dame'."

Hannibal shot him an unamused look, then leaned forward to start untying the rope around his ankle. "You've made your point."

Face chuckled at that. He'd be making his point for a long time.

"Where the hell did she put my clothes?"

Face looked around. "No idea." He picked up a corner of the sheet. "But I hear toga is in this year."

Irritated with the knot - this girl must have learned to tie knots from a sailor – Hannibal finally turned to Face. "Give me your knife."

The fact that he couldn't get his feet free from the bed probably just added to his mounting frustration at this entire situation. Face handed the knife over just as some drawers and shelves caught his eye. He left Hannibal to figure out his clothing situation while he went exploring.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hannibal slit the rope. "She's definitely beginning to lose her appeal."

"Appeal?" Face was somewhat distracted by the folder in the dresser drawer. "If you're really that hard up, I can give you some numbers."

He traced his fingers down the page, skimming quickly. Mission reports. _Hannibal's _mission reports. Well, hell…

Car door. Face's head snapped up, and he froze on instinct.

"Uh oh," Hannibal muttered as the car door was followed by several more.

Face shut the folder and reached for his gun. "Uh oh happened weeks ago."

Hannibal took two steps to the window and without moving the curtain, craned his neck to see outside. "Uh oh just got worse. She's got five cars worth of escorts from the LAPD."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

Hannibal found his clothes in the bathroom. But not his gun. While he looked for it, Face looked out the window. "Who's the guy?" Face asked, as he grabbed his backup gun and offered it.

Hannibal took the pistol as he looked over Face's shoulder, careful not to touch the curtain. They'd be watching for it to move. "That's her partner, Luke."

"Luke, huh? How long have you been on a first name basis with him?"

Hannibal stepped away from the window. "Get behind the door and be ready to push it closed. First person through that door is going to be our hostage."

"Hostage?"

"Yeah." Hannibal smiled wickedly. "And I'll bet you any amount that it'll be her."

Face had no interest in that bet.

Hannibal positioned himself by the door, back flat against the wall, waiting for it to open. His eyes closed as he listened for the footsteps. High heels on the pavement. If she wasn't first, she was still right up front. Funny how it actually worked to their benefit that she was expecting Hannibal to be tied to the bed when she opened the door. It would give them a moment of surprise.

That surprise was the only thing they had to their benefit.

Face slid behind the door, gun drawn, waiting for Hannibal's signal as they heard the key in the lock. "There's an off chance he'll still be out," her muffled voice came through the door. Face tensed, ready.

The door opened. The second her foot crossed the thresh hold, before she had any chance of her eyes adjusting to the dim light inside, Hannibal had a hand around her arm. He jerked her off balance, against his chest, and she barely had time to gasp before his gun was in her cheek. And the door was closed, blocking off whoever was behind her.

Suzanne growled angrily, but didn't bother struggling.

Hannibal wasn't offended. "Hi, Suzy."

"God, I hate you."

Hannibal turned towards the door. "Gentlemen," he called loudly, "this has just become a hostage situation."

Suzanne laughed loudly. "Hostage? Are you kidding?"

Hannibal wasn't kidding. "I suggest you back away from the door and put your weapons on the pavement before I shoot this nice lady."

She rolled her eyes. "You really do think I'm a fool, don't you?"

"Well," Face answered casually, "you did leave him alone and unguarded. Only a fool would expect him to still be there when you got back."

Hannibal's hand dropped to her waist and pulled her sidearm and the gun tucked into the back of her skirt - his gun - before he shoved her forward, hard enough to make her fall right into Face. She straightened herself quickly, and Face smiled.

Hannibal moved the curtain aside to watch the men outside, hesitant and debating. "_Now_, gentlemen!"

As they slowly complied, Hannibal checked her gun to make sure the clip was full, then glanced at Face. A quick nod in her direction was all the order he had to give, and Face grabbed her arm. "No heroics now, sweetheart."

She laughed. "Heroics? I still can't believe you're actually trying to _kidnap _me."

"Think of it as advanced negotiations," Hannibal replied, smiling at her before he reached for the door and slowly pulled it open.

"Turn around and hold onto the railing with both hands," Hannibal ordered. He waited for compliance before continuing. "My friend and I are going to come out with Miss Davids. We're going to walk down to my car and you're going to let us go. And you'll get her back in one piece as long as nobody reaches for those weapons."

He was racing the clock, and they all knew it. There were more cops in this city than what were standing outside this door. And they had probably all been alerted of this situation by now. It was going to be very interesting getting out of here.

"You know," Suzanne said dryly, "you'd probably be better off giving yourself up before you get accidentally shot…again."

"Aw, you won't let that happen, Suzy," Hannibal replied confidently, and with a smile.

He stepped out of the room first, a pistol in each hand as he guarded Face and Suzanne. Even a good shot couldn't alleviate this situation. They might shoot Hannibal, but that left Face wide open to shoot her. Hannibal walked backwards, watching the cops in the cars out of the corner of his eye. Rather, the cops who were crouched beside their cars.

Suzanne wasn't struggling. In fact, she was muttering under her breath as Face led her. "I can't believe you're kidnapping me _now_. Like you didn't have ample opportunity before. What the hell is wrong with you?"

No way in hell they'd make it to Hannibal's car. Even if they did, no way in hell his car would outrun those cops. As they moved slowly towards the corner of the building, they stayed ready. "I assume you're parked on the other side?" Hannibal said low.

Face managed a quick glare at him. "I swear to you, Hannibal, if you get my car shot up…"

Suzanne chuckled. "Oh, it will be," she said. "Shot all to hell. The tail lights… the bumper… the fuzzy dice on the mirror...hula girl on the dashboard."

Hannibal gave a muted smile as he reached the corner of the building. Then in one smooth movement he ducked behind the corner, tucked her gun into the front of his pants, grabbed her upper arm, and was running - dragging her behind. "Move!"

She stumbled a bit in the heels before finally kicking them off. Down the aisle and down the steps, Face was a few steps ahead of them, diving into the driver's seat of a Datsun 280z. Hannibal pulled up short at the sight of the two-seater. "_That's _your car?"

"And it's leaving in ten seconds or less," Face shot back.

Hannibal had the door open with the hand that was holding his gun. He sat down in the passenger seat and with nothing that could even be remotely construed as finesse, pulled Suzanne into his lap. The door was shut almost before her legs were inside, and Hannibal did his best to keep her off of Face. "Go!"

Thoroughly unamused with the entire charade, Suzanne glared out the front windshield as the tires squealed, and Face was careening out of the parking lot with smoke and the scent of burning rubber. "I hope you're happy," she grumbled, squirming uncomfortably at her position on Hannibal's lap. "This is going to be one hell of an embarrassing write up."

Hannibal chuckled. "I'm sure it will."

"Well, that's your goal, isn't it?" she snapped at him. "To embarrass me"

Face blew through the narrow hole between the cop cars that were trying to block him in, and winced at the ping of bullets on metal. "You are going to pay for every one of these holes," he warned.

"Don't look at me," Suzanne snapped back at him. "This wasn't my idea. And those were Christian Lacroix heels by the way. You can't even get them in the States yet. They damn well better have them in evidence when I get back."

As Face peeled off over the grassy median, between the trees, and into oncoming traffic before swerving down a side road, Hannibal only smiled.

*X*X*X*

An hour drive in a cramped car - while sitting on Smith's lap, no less - did little to improve Suzanne's mood. She'd _had _him, dead to right, and yet somehow he had still managed to weasel his way free. How in the hell had he done it?

If the Chief hadn't balked at her request for backup she would be halfway to Langley by now. She'd have Hannibal in front of her boss's bosses, getting to the heart of the matter and finding out just which idiot at the CIA thought they could slaughter an entire village and just walk away from it. Damn it all. But no, instead, she had been kidnapped and taken for a joy ride to the middle of the god forsaken desert. This was beyond absurd.

"Where are we?" Suzanne demanded, the distaste evident in her voice.

"We're in the middle of the desert," Hannibal answered. "Where does it look like we are?"

She glared at him. "I know _that_. What are we doing here?"

She eyed the structure in front of them – a travel trailer with corrugated tin walls added on to expand it into something like a house. Actually, it looked more like a kid's fort, except for the fact that it was out in the middle of the desert.

"We're stopping." Hannibal seemed to take great pleasure in pointing out the obvious. As Face put the car in park, Hannibal pushed open the door. "Get out."

Suzanne looked at the metal - what the hell was that, anyway? House? Hut? Trailer? Box? - then back at Hannibal. Was he serious? One look at him and she knew he was. Great, the _one_ time he was serious.

With a shake of her head and as much dignity as she could manage, she twisted in his lap and stumbled to her feet in the shifting sand. Her legs were cramped and a little less steady then she would have liked. She used the door to balance herself, trying to ignore the scorching sand on her shoeless feet. She'd be damned if she was going to let him know just how uncomfortable it was.

She kept her back straight and shoulders squared as she took a few steps forward, trying to smooth down her hopelessly wrinkled skirt. Damn it, it was _linen_; it would never be the same. Tossing her head back, she folded her arms and stared at Smith. If she could've killed him with her glare, she would've.

"Nice little place you have here," she snapped at him. "Very… quaint."

Damn, that sand was hot!

Hannibal stood and shut the door behind him, then smiled at her and gestured for her to go ahead of him. Peck actually led the way, pistol in hand just in case there were surprises. The shade provided a bit of a relief for her feet as they stepped closer. But the dry, scorching heat was radiating off of the trailer. Hell, it was probably an oven in there. Besides that, the last place she wanted to be was in a confined space with the two of them.

Hannibal stopped at the bottom of the three steps leading up to the door and gestured for her to go first. "After you, Suzy."

A brief glance at her surrounds reinforced that she had no other real options. She had no weapon; Smith had taken her knife from her in the car. Even if she managed to surprise him and get past him, she would never make it to the car before Peck caught up with her. Besides, Peck was the one with the keys. And she knew they really didn't want to harm her. Running through the desert without shoes or water or anyplace to _go_ was certainly more dangerous, not to mention stupid.

Shaking her head slightly she walked up the steps, trying to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior and glad to have her feet on something that wasn't a thousand degrees.

"So what's your brilliant plan now that you've kidnapped me?"

The sweltering heat inside of the tin can trailer _almost_ made her wish for the hot sand again. Peck was coming back down the narrow hallway, slipping his gun back into his belt when she turned to Smith and raised a brow in challenge.

"Well, this isn't exactly the way I would've chosen," Smith answered. "But having you as a hostage will just make your superiors that much more cooperative when they come for that talk."

Peck stopped and stared at him, almost as incredulously as Suzanne herself. "Hannibal, you don't really think..."

He trailed off as Smith turned to him and grinned. Instead of finishing, Peck merely shook his head and sighed. Suzanne, on the other hand, was still staring at him, jaw dropped. "You're joking right?"

"Why would you think that?" he asked innocently.

Her hands dropped to her sides. "You can't _really _still believe that my superiors agreed to coming here?"

It had to be a joke. Had to be. What were the damn odds that the one time he believed her was when she was lying through her teeth?

He flashed her a full smile. "Oh, come on, Suzy. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" He stepped closer, couching in on her personal space, and lowered his voice. "Not any more than you would allow personal vendettas - or desires - to get in the way of your mission."

Her jaw snapped shut. Son of a bitch…

"Looks like your plan backfired on you, honey," Peck said flatly. "Maybe in more than one way."

She glared viciously, first at Smith and then at Peck. "Honey?Really?"

He shrugged, entirely nonchalant.

"You know, I expect that from him." She nodded towards Smith. "He's _old _enough to use that term, but you?"

Some part of her was shocked and appalled by her outburst. She was being both stupid and careless – two things she never was. But she couldn't stop running her mouth without thinking. Maybe if she hadn't just been humiliated – both in public and in private - by Smith, she would have had a little more ability to keep her cool. But damn it, he just had a knack for getting under her skin.

Peck sighed, and turned towards the door, not willing to engage her. "I'll wait outside."

Smith nodded, and watched him go before turning back to her. "Fact is, Suzy, your plan _did_ backfire. Out in the real world, that could get you killed."

For a long moment, she just stared at him, wishing like hell she could figure out what was going on in his head. Why was he talking like he gave a damn? He'd just kidnapped her for Christ's sake! She was just a toy for him, something to pass the time with.

She didn't need to answer him. It didn't matter what he thought of her. But still the words were coming out of her mouth, low and serious. "I'm well aware of how the real world operates."

"Good. Then you'll appreciate this simulation."

He walked to what had once served as a kitchen for someone who had once lived here. It was hard to believe that anyone could've lived out here in the middle of nowhere. What had ever happened to them? And why did they leave their "house" behind? It wasn't like it would've been that hard to move it...

Her wandering thoughts pulled up short as he pulled a few gallons of water out from under the sink. He had prepared. Had he known he was going to bring her here?

"This is for you," he said. "And until further notice, you're going to stay right here. Is that understood?"

It took her a second to digest what he had just said with that patronizing, casual tone. As if she were a misbehaved child getting sent to her room for time out. What the hell was he thinking? He expected her to stay in this sweat box? Granted, she had been in worse places. But what the hell was the point?

She could argue, she could protest, but she was in the middle of the desert with no weapon, no idea of her location, no means of communication. Hell, she didn't even have a pair of shoes. All of her protest would amount to nothing, other than to amuse him, and she was sick of being his entertainment. So instead, she found herself staring at him in genuine confusion.

"Why?"

"Well, because even if your superiors _aren't _on their way," he answered, "I imagine your disappearance - on top of what they already want from me - might make them a little more inclined to be... approachable."

She stared. He had worked with the Agency. He had to know that as far as they were concerned, she was on her own. There was no rescue, and no negotiation. Of course, that wasn't necessarily what he was implying. She felt her eyes widen slightly. Was he going to let them think she was dead? That he had killed her? Was he hoping that might make them nervous and willing to talk? That was insanely risky. There was just as much reason for him to think they would send someone much more dangerous than her after him.

He smiled as he headed for the door. "I'll be back to check on you and bring you food. For now, just make yourself at home."

"You're taking a hell of a risk, you know." Did he not even see it? "It would be easier if you just helped me get a hold of the people who started this."

"Sorry, Suzy." He paused in the doorway, and smiled at her before stepping out. "That's not part of the plan."

In a matter of only seconds, he was in the car, and pulling away, leaving her alone in the desert.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

Hannibal leaned back on the hood of Face's loaner car – a sensible four door sedan the dealer had loaned him while his car was in the shop. Currently it was parked in BA's garage, which was probably the safest place for it.

"Regardless of what else she knows or doesn't know, she's got the case files on the 'incident.'" Hannibal was careful not to call it a mission. In the files he'd seen, it was anything but. "And they're pretty clear on the fact that we had nothing even remotely resembling orders."

BA growled deeply. "What do you mean there was no orders? We had orders. We didn't go around killin' people for fun."

Hannibal was leaning against the hood of Face's rented/borrowed/scammed car, chewing on his cigar and watching BA grind his fist into his palm anxiously. There were any number of places Hannibal would rather be, and conversations he'd rather be having. But they needed a plan. Suzanne had proven herself to be more than a minor distraction. They needed to get rid of her assignment as a whole. Otherwise, they'd just send someone else in her place.

"How is it," Face asked, his voice dripping with sarcastic contempt, "that our orders keep getting _lost_?"

"I don't think these orders were lost."

Face and BA stared, silent for a long moment, waiting for him to continue.

"The same man who signed those orders is the man Suzanne is working for. His name is Ekhart."

Face frowned. "So it's a cover up."

"We had orders!" BA said again, his voice pounding with authority.

"I know that and you know that. Suzanne didn't know that. Based on what was in the 'official' file that the CIA gave her, we went rouge"

BA shook his head in silent disgust, and nodded towards Face. "Looks like you was right, man."

Face raised a brow. "About…?"

"You said it would come back on us. You said it from the start."

Face sighed as he looked back at Hannibal. "What about the Army's paperwork? I mean... Westman had to approve our missions. He loaned us out to the CIA... there's got to be some kind of record to that."

"If there is, it's not in that file."

"Who woulda took it?" BA demanded. "And why now?"

Hannibal shrugged. "We don't know that it was recent. It might've never gotten filed."

"Like the orders for the Hanoi bank job," Face said dryly.

Hannibal smiled, but it was without humor. "Exactly."

Face was clearly less than pleased with that prospect. "And again, it's amazing to me that with all the red tape and protocol, so many of our operations failed to make it to the books."

"Well, two that we know of," Hannibal reflected thoughtfully. "And to be fair... technically, we didn't even exist."

"We existed enough for them to court martial us."

There was a loud _thunk!_ As BA's fist met Face's car with almost terminal velocity. "Ain't nothin' fair about any of this!"

"Hey, watch it, will you?" Face snapped at him. "This isn't even my car."

"I ain't worried 'bout your car!"

"Great. Well, you and Hannibal can start a club. But for right now –"

"Being on the run for robbery and treason ain't bad enough?" BA interrupted, ignoring him. "Now they want us to take the fall for killin' a bunch of people, too?"

The deep anger was seeping off of BA in waves. Hannibal could understand why, but it wasn't going to help. "Take it easy, BA."

"It ain't right, Hannibal."

Hannibal glanced at him briefly before lowering his head again and letting his eyes slip out of focus.

"Alright, let's assume there's no paper trail," Face started, pacing slowly. "The man who sent her to bring us in knows that we HAD orders, because he gave them, right? So the question is acting alone?"

Hannibal studied his cigar, waiting for Face to follow the logic.

"Do you really buy that the Agency as a whole could be responsible for this, rather than whoever failed to put those orders on file?"

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time the Agency has had to cover their asses."

Face sighed. "That girl you got stashed would probably know. You got any plans for making her spill?"

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. "That depends. My gut tells me she's being honest when she says she wants the truth. But even if that's the case, we can't prove anything. Our side of the story is the testimony of three fugitives against the word of the CIA - complete with documentation. And even if she wants the truth, and even if she believes it, what is she supposed to _do _with it?"

"Why don't you ask her? Maybe she actually has something in mind."

Hannibal grinned. "Well she's certainly been forthcoming so far."

"She was willing to give you the file." Face shrugged.

"I don't know that I would call her cooperation 'willing,'" Hannibal answered distractedly.  
There was a long moment of silence before Face spoke again. "You know, Hannibal, it wasn't just three wanted criminals there."

Hannibal glanced up at him.  
"Boston was there too."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment. The last time he'd seen Boston had been friendly, but it had also been a reminder of all the reasons why a continuing association with him was just not in anyone's best interest. He had a wife, he wanted a family. The last thing he needed was to be a known associative of military fugitives. There was a very distinct line to be drawn between the soldier they'd known as "Boston" and the man who lived quietly with his wife as Ray Brenner.

"They sent her after me, specifically," Hannibal reflected quietly. "They don't want Ray."  
"Good," BA said firmly. "He got a family. He don't need no trouble with the CIA."

"That's not the point." Hannibal glanced up. "They don't seem to want _you _guys, either."

"And that's _my _point," Face said. "Someone wants to shift blame for that incident so they've decided to file it under 'war crimes of Colonel Smith.' It's not like my testimony – or BA's – would hold up in court. So why waste the time and effort to bring us in? But Boston…"

"Would still have the entire CIA and all the documentation in that file to contend with," Hannibal interrupted. "Not to mention dragging his military career through the mud, to say nothing of his conscience."

"But if, by chance, there _is_ some question of guilt and innocence here – if there is someone, be it Suzanne or anyone else – who really wants to know what happened and wants it from a credible source…"

Hannibal shook his head. "His word is not going to stand up against the official documents of what happened."

"Not in court, no."

"Then why on earth would I want to drag him through all of that?"

"Because if he can convince that woman we've got locked up in the desert," Face pointed out, "then _she _has a chance of going back and figuring out what the hell happened. That makes it her problem. And let's face it, we can't keep her out there forever. We need to do something with her."

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment, considering that. He'd said it himself; his gut told him she wanted the truth. Whether or not she'd be able to do anything with the truth was another story entirely.

"I don't know that I'm willing to drag him through all that for a 'maybe.'"

Face was silent for a moment. "It's your call Hannibal. But either way, you may want to consider letting him know that someone is dredging this up. Because if this assignment is becoming an issue again, and for any reason someone does go after him, he has a lot to lose."

Hannibal was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded. He had reservations about using Ray for any sort of reinforcement; he'd been asked by the man himself not to. But better for him to knock on the door than someone like Suzanne.

*X*X*X*

Suzanne was glaring daggers at Hannibal the moment he stepped through the door. There was no part of her willing to let on that she was actually glad to see him. Maybe more accurately, she was damn pleased to see the kerosene lantern he had in his hand and the paper bag that smelled like food.

She'd spent the better part of the day killing spiders and scorpions that had found this trailer a nice place to hide. Suzanne hated spiders with a passion and, since she had no shoes, she had been force to use a frying pan with a cracked handle as her weapon of choice.

There was no electricity, and no light source – not to mention, no heat – and since the sun had gone down, there was no telling what was crawling out of the woodwork when she couldn't _see _it. She didn't want to think about it. And in the pitch blackness that had settled in around her, she was beginning to think that he wouldn't be back until morning. Or later.

"How long do you intend to keep me here?" she demanded, frying pan still in her hand

"I told you." He set the lantern down in the center of the room and turned it up, then walked to the wall she was standing against and sat down a few paces away from her. "We're waiting for your bosses."

"And I told you, they're not coming."

"That's very unfortunate for you."

She growled audibly as he rested back against the flimsy wall, stretching one leg out in front of him and bending the other, letting his arm rest on it. He looked comfortable, casual and relaxed in spite of the fact that he was sitting with a hostage in an unsecured trailer in the middle of the desert. She was anything but relaxed.

"So I have two proposed solutions and you can choose whichever you'd like."

She didn't move, simply glancing sideways at him as she waited for him to enlighten her.

"We're going to discuss this situation with a member of our team who was there for that assignment. He knows the details of it, but he _isn't _wanted by the Army. If he's willing, he'll be a far better source than we will for getting your true story."

She stared at him, not sure what to say to that.

"Alternatively, I would be happy to give you your knife and a bottle of water, and we can go our separate ways right now. As I said, you're about seventy miles from LA, twenty miles from the nearest inhabited building. It's your call."

He was offering to help her get to the bottom of this? Since when? Wary of the offer, she watched him carefully. "Exactly what would my position be for this little reunion?"

"Observer."

She considered that for a moment. Her superiors wanted Smith, and no one else. But if there was someone credible who was willing to shed some light on the truth…

"None of us have seen him in years. He's asked to be kept out of our lives as fugitives and I respect that. But if he's willing to make a statement, you can take it back to your boss. If not, then at the very least he needs to be notified that he may be in the line of fire. Because he was on that mission too. And should you succeed in _your_ assignment, and I get brought before the court of their choosing, they'll have all the authority they need to go after the rest of my team and make this problem truly disappear."

She considered that for a moment, then nodded slowly. "And I'm free to go after that?"

He turned his head and looked at her. "I have no interest in a permanent hostage."

She watched him for a long moment. It was the first time since she'd met him that he was actually being cooperative. Maybe it wasn't in the way she would've preferred, but it was at least something.

Glancing at the ground beneath her, she saw a spider way too close to her feet for comfort. With a satisfying 'thwack' she flattened it with the pan. After making sure none of the now-flat spider's friends were around, she sat down, leaning against the side of the trailer just a few feet from him.

He was grinning at her, clearly finding her distaste of arachnids amusing. But for once he said nothing. Was he making an effort to not annoy her, or was he just trying to work things to his advantage? She had a feeling it was both.

Suzanne took a moment to scan her surroundings quietly, then looked back at him. "You know, I never would've thought to keep a prisoner in an unsecured building in the middle of the desert."

"They did the same sort of thing in the jungle camps in Vietnam. Out in the middle of nowhere, nobody comes or goes even if they could."

"I always thought the enemy had no trouble moving through the jungle to get to your camps."

He smiled knowingly at her. "Not our camps, Suzy. The POW camps. The little ones, out in the jungle."

The realization dawned on her and she dropped her eyes. But all she could manage was a quiet, "oh." Damn it, how did he make her feel so stupid? She had always been top of her class at everything. But talking to him, she always seemed to end up saying the stupidest things.

"So what made you think to compare jungle to desert?"

That was lame, and she knew it. But he didn't blow her off, or laugh. As he leaned back, he withdrew his cigar and lit it quietly, then looked across at her.

"They're equally dangerous," he said quietly. "Equally empty. When I was in training, one of our survival exercises was to make it forty miles through the desert over a period of a few days. It was one of the things I was taking into consideration when I was debating whether or not it was even feasible to make a break for it in that camp."

"That camp." She knew what he was talking about this time. She'd read his file, after all. "Is that how you got out? In the end? Making a break for it?"

He smiled faintly. "You've read the file. You know how we got out."

She frowned. "If this whole experience has taught me one thing, it's not to trust the files. People lie."

"Not without reason."

"Well, given the number of people who had a hand in making up that report, that's a lot of somebodys who might have had a reason to lie."

She watched him quietly. He was more than confident – comfortable, even. Somehow she doubted if there was anything that would ever truly shake him. At least, not on a visible level. She'd read everything she could about him, trying to understand him, to find out who he was, how to calculate him. The paper version of him, however, was severely lacking. Who the hell _was _he?

"How'd you get them to go with you?"

"Who?"

"Your men." She paused. When he didn't immediately answer, she reconsidered. "Better question – how did you get Peck and Baracus to go with you over a prison wall in the dead of winter? They had to know it was suicide."

Hannibal shut his eyes as he turned his head away from her again, and a smile crept across his lips. "So was damn near every mission we did in 'Nam. There was never any question whether they would go with me."

"That takes a lot of trust."

His smile remained in place, and he opened his eyes to stare across the room as he considered her words. "Trusting someone with your life is something every soldier does. Trusting them to have your back." He turned toward her lazily. "That's not how trust is measured in our book."

"How is it then?"

"When you know that the people you're with know you better than anyone else - your strengths and your weaknesses - and all of their decisions directly affect your life. When you can let them go on living, and not stop to intervene out of fear or worry. And when you know they do the same for you."

She considered that quietly for a moment. "Living all your lives as one?"

He smiled knowingly. "That's a very good way of putting it."

She watched him, considering that. If that was the case, it was no wonder nobody had ever managed to hang on to them. Three minds working together against one. They had every opponent outnumbered and outmatched.

There was a small, hated part of her that was in awe. What was it like to have trust like that – to be able to count on the people in your life no matter what? There was a time long ago when she'd known what that was like. Most people experienced it, to some degree or another, when they were children – reliant on their parents, like it or not. But that was different. That was normal. Whatever it was that bonded him to his team – and vice versa – was not normal.

How did he manage to inspire that kind of loyalty? Was it the experiences – the proof that he would be there because he had been there before? Did that somehow elicit the same show of dedication? No, it had to be more than just a show. It had to be much, much more.

"Is that why they stay with you?" she asked quietly.

When he didn't answer, she continued. "You all don't have to stay together. You choose to. Even at the cost of personal sacrifice, like Peck's car."

Hannibal shrugged slightly, relaxed back against the wall. "I don't ask why they stay. And I've never had to ask where they'd go."

"Why? Because they have nowhere to go?"

He smiled. "Because if we ever did get separated, I'd know where to find them."

Something about the way he said that had her staring at him again. It was so causal but still so sure, as if it was completely normal for three men to know each other so well that they don't have to use words to communicate. These men just _knew_. It was beyond loyalty, it was closer to symbiosis; a relationship so close that they each depended on the other to survive.

She was still staring at him when he held up the bag that he had been holding in his hand since he arrived. "How about you think while we eat?" He grinned at her. "Cold burgers detract from the culinary experience"

Reluctantly, she nodded, and reached up to take the bag.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

Dinner had been finished for a while before either one of them spoke again. For Suzanne's part, she was too hungry to talk. Hannibal seemed content and at ease, even in the lingering silence. Then again, he always seemed that way. She used the silence to weigh what she had learned, and to watch him. She needed a course of action. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted to hear what the man had to say, but what was it going to cost her? He'd tell her, eventually. She was sure of it. But he wouldn't do it without gaining something himself. She was sure of that too.

The sun had long gone when she finally turned her head and looked at him. "It's no wonder you never got along with the CIA."

"Hmm?" He didn't even bother looking at her.

"That kind of… interdependence you have with your team. It's not only unheard of, it's very much discouraged."

"The CIA is a society of individuals. That's not how I operate."

"Clearly."

Suzanne knew perfectly well that "Trust no one" was the unofficial motto of the CIA. It was drilled from day one. The problem with that, she was now finding, was that her superiors still expected her to trust them. And she had. That had turned out to be a mistake. Was she wrong to believe in the concept of that unquestioning trust? Or had it more to do with the men themselves who had sent her?

There was no point in asking those questions now. She wasn't about to get the answers. It would only make her crazy to try and figure it out.

"I never got along with the CIA," Hannibal continued quietly, "on the grounds that nine out of ten missions I pulled for them, it was always something or another about them trying to cover their asses. My team on the line for some stupid mistake that some REMF made."

There was nothing about that statement that helped ease her mind. She raised an eyebrow at him "REMF?" She could guess what the last two letters stood for but not the first two.

"Rear Echelon," he explained, glancing sideways at her. "Military language for someone who sits at a desk, without any field experience, and orders soldiers to their deaths because he doesn't know what the hell he's doing."

She frowned at that. Just how many of those missions in his file were caused by those types of screw ups? How much did it matter? When it came to war, solders died. Sometimes they died needlessly. She could see why a man like Hannibal would be frustrated with a system like that, where rank and politics mattered more than experience. Bad information combined with people who trained in war rooms instead of the battlefield, and estimated their knowledge above that of the soldiers on the front lines. Soldiers like Hannibal. Suzanne had never been anywhere near a warzone, but this much she knew – that was a recipe for disaster.

"Is that what happened at Linh Hu Nao?"

Hannibal glanced at her. "Linh Hu Nao was a cover up. But it was also a desperate attempt to save our entire network of assets." He gave a tight, humorless smile. "Somewhere, you have to draw the line."

"What do you mean?"

"If it was _just _a cover up? Damned if I would have even considered following through on it."

She stared at him for a long moment, evaluating his sincerity. But really, she didn't have to weigh it very long. She had orders to bring him in. But she trusted her gut. She trusted the fugitive sitting next to her more than she trusted her orders.

"The man who _made _that mess to begin with is going to be held accountable," she said with determination. "And whoever ordered that assignment."

Hannibal gave a slight smile. "No he won't." There was no remorse or sadness in his words, they were just a statement of fact.

She shifted her gaze to the far wall, letting his words settle in.

"The CIA is all for keeping that kind of screw up a secret."

"They also have every reason to want to make sure that the idiot who almost cost them every contact they had in Vietnam is removed."

"Removed?" Hannibal chuckled. "That idiot has had ten years to work his way up the chain of command."

"Whoever he is, he's still got a superior."

"And either he's doing a damn good job of hiding his little secret from that superior, or that superior knows and just doesn't give a damn."

She frowned. Secrets were a given. But the Agency's patience was notoriously short for screw ups. And this was a major screw up. That person was probably high up enough they would be privy to a lot of very sensitive secrets that the CIA would not want made public. People who had that kind of potential to damage the Agency didn't get fired; they tended to have accidents.

Whether the man who gave that order ended up in jail or dead honestly didn't matter much to her. He deserved nothing less. And despite what anyone believed—including Hannibal, and all of his toying—she was going to bring them down.

Looking back up, she met Hannibal's eyes. "I'll make sure he pays for what he did." There was a hard edge of determination in those quiet words.

Hannibal chuckled quietly, but it wasn't mocking. "You're an idealist, Suzy. In a way, I admire that."

She almost flinched. Was that a compliment? Surely it was about to be followed by a barb. She watched him expectantly, waiting for it.

"But don't let that make you naive. It's better that one man should die for the sake of the rest."

He paused, giving her a moment to consider those words. She didn't have to consider them very hard. It was standard operating procedure in her line of work. She'd already dealt with it on every level.

"You think I'm naïve?" she challenged.

"I think you're an idealist, like I said. But if it comes down to saving lives or a mission objective... this isn't the line of work for mercy and compassion."

She could feel the tightness in her jaw. "I know all about sacrificing good people to save the masses." Tightly controlled anger made her words to clipped and sharp. She didn't try to hide it. "This isn't about compassion or mercy. Whoever ordered that slaughter failed in _their_ objective; to protect their assets."

"The man who ordered that slaughter was cleaning up a mess."

"_His _mess."

"The Agency's mess."

"_Somebody_ dropped the ball! Somebody should've been protecting those people. With their _life_ if need be."

"Which people, Suzanne? The assets? Or the villagers?"

As the shadows from the lantern played across the small room, she paused. She took a few slow, calming breaths before she continued. "You and your men were ordered to deal with the fallout from someone else's incompetence. And whoever that someone else is, I want his balls."

"You're not going to get that from me, Suzy," Hannibal said softly. "I was never given that information."

"Whoever gave your orders-"

"Was probably just following orders himself."

"Well, be that as it may, he's still the next step towards figuring out where the hell everything went wrong."

Hannibal was quiet. Suzanne didn't continue for a long moment, just letting her mind wander. Those families, their children, his team… none of it mattered. Just a cover up.

"What makes you think," Hannibal finally said, quietly, "that the man who let that information leak wasn't dealt with before we ever received our orders?"

"It's possible," she admitted.

"It's probable. But eliminating the idiot who made the screw up doesn't fix the problem."

"No," she said coldly. "For that, we needed the slaughter of an entire village."

She stopped, suddenly aware of just close she was to feelings that had no place here. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her cigarette pack and tapped the last one out. Nicotine and the pause would help her find that control again.

Hannibal was watching her with the unreadable look. He didn't speak again until after she'd gotten her cigarette and had time to exhale a cloud of smoke. "It's a cruel world, Suzanne. And a cruel business. But it's the one you chose."

Once again, Suzanne went silent as she studied him. After all of the cat and mouse games they had played, she wasn't expecting to find herself really talking to him. Putting her cigarette to her lips she took a long, deep drag. Buried emotions had come too close to the surface and she had spoken without a goal. Normally, every word she spoke was carefully considered to elicit the reaction and gain the information she needed; speaking was a calculated means to an end for her. Somehow, Hannibal had managed once again to have her talking with out thinking. Now she was left in the awkward position of not _knowing_ what to say.

Tilting her head back until it was resting against the wall, she stared at the ceiling as her mind worked overtime to figure out what to do. Hannibal knew how much she wanted the man in responsible, but he hadn't mocked or belittled her for it. Just the opposite in fact, he was offering her an option. Once again she found herself wondering just who this man was and what made him tick.

Eyes still locked on the ceiling, Suzanne let the smoke fill her lungs as she thought about the choice she had to make. What did she really want? To follow orders and drag in Hannibal to cover up someone else crimes? Or risk her job, career and possibly her life to bring down the man who had used them all? She already knew the answer. Letting out a long stream of smoke she kept her eyes focused upwards

"If you take me to your man and he signs a statement backing up what you say, I'll take care of the rest."

**"**I'd like to think it would be that simple."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"We still need to talk to him about whether or not he'd even be willing to get involved. Depending on what your bosses really want, they could potentially go after him, too. And he doesn't need that."

There was a pause while he put his head back on the wall again; still looking and acting completely relaxed and at ease. How did he _do _that?

"Face, BA, and I have nothing to lose; one more government agency wants to see us dead, so what?" He shrugged. "None of us expect to live out our last days in quiet bliss in some retirement town in Florida. But if they're looking to make a statement, they may not care who they burn in the end. And I'd rather it not come as a surprise to Brenner." Hannibal's eyes opened at that and he stared absently across the room. "He was a good man. And he doesn't deserve that."

He said that so quietly Suzanne wasn't sure if he had even meant to say that aloud. She found herself staring at him. Was he serious? She took another deep breath and another slow drag before she was able to speak again.

"They don't want your team, Hannibal," she finally said. "They only want you."

"I know."

"As far as the Agency is concerned, you were the only man briefed on the missions, so you're the only potential threat."

"Yes. But if they can't get me, they may look for someone else to burn."

Suddenly, it hit her what he'd just said. "Wait, what? What do you mean, you know?"

He chuckled quietly. Amazing. He didn't seem the least bit shocked. The man had a downright annoying knack for being three steps ahead of her. "Everything we did for the Agency was need-to-know. They have no reason to suspect I ever fully briefed my team. Assuming my team never saw our orders, I was the one who got some crazy idea to go massacre a village—maybe a personal vendetta; they'd think of something—and the rest of the team followed on my word. They don't have to bring us all in to make this go away."

She stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head as she looked away, tapping her ashes on the floor. "I was told that the reason they wanted you was because if you did get caught by the Army and put on trial, you would have nothing to lose. Couple that with your well documented dislike of the CIA, and there is an unacceptable risk that you could tell everything you did for the company in a very public forum. That's what they want to prevent."

The sound of his laughter filled the rapidly cooling air. "Terrific. So the CIA wants to bring me in and put on their own dog and pony show before the Army gets a chance, and make sure I don't spill all their secrets. Of which slaughtering an entire village is only one."

Her eyes widened at that. "Only one?"

He paused as he pulled a cigar from his pocket chuckling again. "That's rich. Hell, I'm surprised they didn't send someone with kill orders if that's their big concern."

Lighting his cigar he relaxing back again, smiling as if horribly amused. She found herself staring at him again, dumbfounded. Did anything _ever _shock this man?

"You're a cult hero," she finally continued. "They don't want to add to your mystique and make you a martyr. That's why they wouldn't put out a kill order on you. Much better to have you convicted of treason. Then discredited and disgraced, you can sit and rot in silence. In a small cell, far away from anyone who might want to know the truth."

Her voice was calm and professional, giving away none of the swirling feelings that came with those words. Without thinking, she ran her hands over her arms, trying to ward off the chill in the air. It had all made so much sense at the time. He was a child killer who deserved justice. And there was a growing part of her that missed that simplicity. Everything was so much easier to decipher when it was in black and white. She dropped her eyes and took a hasty drag, not wanting to think about how neatly she had been used.

"I give them points for creativity," Hannibal finally said. He let the silence continue for a moment before he glanced at her. "You know, I imagine your people _are _going to be looking to you, even if they have no intention of calling the higher ups. So we're not going back to LA tonight."

It was her turn to laugh "As far as my people are concerned, I'm on my own. It's not like they're going to mount a rescue."

"There's blankets in the car if you want to go get them."

The temperature had been dropping steadily, and after the heat of the day, it was all the more startling. Frankly, her business blazer and skirt were not meant for this type of weather. The wrinkled linen outfit was now a sweaty, stained mess. She was going to have to burn it when this was over.

Putting out her smoke, she stood up. There would be no need for him to worry about her hot wiring the car and driving off. She was willing to risk to talk to his man. The thought of sleeping in spider heaven, in her dirty clothes didn't thrill her, but she had slept in worse. Sighing a little to herself, Suzanne headed out to get the blankets, hoping like hell she wasn't making a huge mistake.

*X*X*X*

Hannibal was awake at the first light of dawn, but there was no sense in getting up. For one thing, it was cold. For another, they had nowhere to be and nothing to do until Face and BA arrived. That fact that Suzanne had move in tight to him, seeking warmth in her sleep, had him grinning. He closed his eyes again, and drifted back to sleep. When he awoke again, it was to the sound of a car engine. Quickly alert, he wrestled his hand out from beneath the blanket and looked at his watch. Almost eight.

The cold was fading as the sun rose, but Suzanne was still huddled close to him. He smiled faintly as he brushed her hair back. That skirt suit had to be so uncomfortable to sleep in. Not that he had a tremendous amount of sympathy. He'd slept in worse.

He sat up, drawing the blankets away from her and letting the cooler air wake her. She stirred a little and let out a mumbled protesting noise as moved the blankets away. Still sleeping, she curled a little closer to him, draping her arm over his chest.

"Good morning, Suzy."

Her eyes opened reluctantly, unfocused and heavy with sleep. She blinked at him as if trying to get her brain working. Hand on his chest, head on his shoulder… Suzy looked at him in pure sleep induced confusion. Suddenly, her eyes flew open wide and she tried to sit bolt upright and scramble away from him at the same time. "Son of a..."

The effect was comical, and he couldn't help but laugh. She looked like an startled giraffe on roller skates—limbs going in every direction, eyes wide and panicked. Finally, she came to rest on the far wall, facing him from a few feet away.

"Nice to see you too."

She glared at him, all the more amusing given the wrinkled suit, unruly hair, labored breathing, and sleep that was still in her eyes. He chuckled again as he pulled himself to his feet, leaving the blankets on the floor.

"We'll be leaving shortly. And there's coffee outside if you're interested."

A sound that was part snarl and part growl answered him. Apparently Agent Suzy was not a morning person. "I need coffee," she muttered. "And a shower."

"Well, like I said, the coffee's outside. As for the shower, I'm afraid you're going to have to do without." He didn't bother even pretending to sound apologetic. One day without a shower, even in the desert, wouldn't kill her.

"I really, really hate you, you know that?"

It wasn't much of an insult and judging by the resigned quality in her voice, she wasn't going to push the issue. Instead she spent a moment making a valiant effort at bringing her hair under control. Hannibal grinned to himself. That was a battle that even he wouldn't have even attempted. With a disgruntled sigh she gave up, her hair clearly the victor. Squaring her shoulders and holding her head high, Suzy followed him out the door.

Face was leaning on the hood of yet another car as Hannibal stepped out into the sun. It was going to be particularly hot today if the temperature already was any indication.

"Morning." Face said with a smile, handing Hannibal a gas station cup of coffee, which he passed to Suzanne. She grabbed the cup from his hand, ripped the lid off, and took a sip before Hannibal even had a chance to take the next one Face held out.

Face smiled as he pulled a cigar from his pocket and held it out to Hannibal, and then tossed a pack of cigarettes to Suzanne. Suzanne caught the pack of smokes with one hand out of instinct alone. Staring at the pack in her hand for a second, a small smile pulled at her mouth. Hannibal smirked. It was Face. Hannibal was sure he'd gotten the brand right.

Raising her cup in a salute to Face, she took another larger sip. "You're good."

"I know."

Hannibal smirked. "And so modest."

Face ignored him. Suzanne raised a brow. "If you can manage to make a shower and a clean set of clothes appear, I'll be _really_ impressed."

"With the right motivation, I can get anything."

Suzy laughed at that. BA, who had been leaning against the car in silence, grimaced. Hannibal saw Suzy eyeing him up with a discrete glance over the rim on the paper cup. She had talked about BA last night; he knew she would recognize him even though she hadn't spoken to him yet. Not like the man blended into a crowd.

"Were you able to confirm Ray's address?" Hannibal asked. He didn't look at Face, instead lighting his cigar.

"He still lives at the same house he's been at for the past ten years."

"Good. That'll save us from getting lost."

Face raised a brow. "I take it you've been there before?"

Hannibal didn't answer. That was a time of his life he didn't like thinking about, much less talking about. "If we leave now, we should at least be in Texas by tonight." Hannibal spoke from around his cigar, glancing away from Face and in the distance of the rising sun. "I'd like to make it to his house by nightfall, if we can."

Opening the rear passenger door, Face smiled at Suzanne. "Well, in that case, we'd better get moving."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

The woman who answered the door was familiar to Hannibal. And he was familiar to her. The recognition was instant, and the shock, followed by the smile. "Hannibal." She stepped back, pulling the door open for him, and everyone who was behind him. "Come in."  
Hannibal was sure that both Face and BA knew who she was, although they'd never met her. Trish Brenner, wife of Ray Brenner. They'd married just days before Ray shipped out to Southeast Asia. And for better or worse, Ray had stuck by those vows the entire time he was over there.

"Evening, Trish," Hannibal greeted politely. "Is Ray around?"

Trish was busy looking at all the people filing into her house. Her eyes lingered, not surprisingly, on BA. "Um... yes."

"We won't stay long," Hannibal promised. "We just need to talk to him. It's important."

"I would imagine so. We haven't seen you in years."

Trish's eyes locked on Suzanne, who looked far worse for wear than the rest of them, and before Hannibal had a chance to respond, Trish was in full-blown "mothering" mode.

"Oh, honey, you're a mess!" She put out a hand as if to pull Suzanne under her wing and looked back at Hannibal. "Oh, what happened?"

Face smirked at the overly concerned tone and shot a glance at Suzanne. "Bet you could get that shower here if you ask nicely."

"Oh, absolutely!"

Suzanne had no opportunity to respond even if she'd wanted to.

Face exchanged glances and a shrug, with Hannibal as Trish turned and called over her shoulder for her husband. "Please," she invited them. "Come on in. I'll make a pot of coffee. And I'll see what I can do about getting you some clean clothes."

"Thank you, Mrs. Brenner," Suzanne replied. "But –"

"Please. Call me Trish."

"Trish. But please don't go through any trouble on my account."

The picture of polite and courteous, Hannibal watched her with some amusement. Was she really just being polite? Or was it that she didn't want to miss a minute of this conversation? It was hard to tell.

In any case, Trish reply was lost as Ray appeared. "What do you –"

He stopped short at the sight of them, shocked and equally wary of the men standing in his living room. "Boston," Face greeted with a smile. "You look good."

"Ray," he corrected automatically. "Please."

"Good to see you," BA added.

A forced smile and wary gaze answered him. Then Ray looked back at Hannibal. "What's wrong?"

He had to know something was wrong. He'd asked Hannibal to stay away, and for 8 years, Hannibal had honored that request. The fact that he was showing up now meant that something had changed. Something was wrong.

"We need to talk to you about some work we did with the Agency."

Ray looked in the direction that Trish and Suzanne had disappeared, then back at Hannibal. "What work?"

Ray took a step back and gestured for them to sit in the open living room. Hannibal hesitated for a moment, then sat down on the sofa. Face followed his lead, but BA remained standing.

"They're trying to cover up a few messes they made," Hannibal said calmly. "Right now, they just want me. But I haven't been making that easy on them. And if they don't get me, they could potentially come after you."

"After me?"

Hannibal's voice was serious as he replied. "We all know the lengths they've been willing to go to in the past to make problems go away. I don't know what the end game is here, but I don't want to leave the ball in their court and wait to find out."

"Aw, hell, Hannibal." Ray sank down into the wing chair by the sofa. "Just how are you planning on taking the ball out of their court?"

Hannibal smirked. "I've been working on it. And that woman your wife is helping right now actually wants to intercede on our behalf."

"Who is she?"

"She's Agency."

Hannibal wouldn't have thought it possible, but Ray's look turned even more wary.

"She wants the real story beneath the cover up. And she wants to try taking it up the chain of command. I don't know how successful she'll be, and I intend to have a backup plan ready. But even best case scenario, the problem is, our word isn't going to stand for much as far as airing this out in the open."

"The whole fugitive status makes us less than credible witnesses," Face interjected.

"If that's the case, why are they after you guys anyway?" Ray asked, frowning deeply.

"Suzanne believes they were operating under the assumption that I didn't fully brief my team. If that's the case, I'd be the only one with the whole story – the only one who's a real threat. My testimony won't hold up under scrutiny, but they sure as hell don't want me standing before a military court and spilling Agency secrets in an attempt to prove my innocence."

Ray's hands gripped his knees, his mouth set in a grim line. "I really don't like this Hannibal."

Hannibal didn't speak. He didn't like it either. Pointing that out would be senseless.

"I've been minding my own business, paying my taxes. Hell, I won't even jaywalk. I left a salaried position in the Army to work in a meat department of a grocery store. Because I don't want my life in VN to come here. It's not..."

He trailed off, looking almost ashamed as he locked eyes with each one of them. He lowered his head, cradling it in his hands. "I'm sorry. I've got no right to complain to you about this."

Hannibal could hear the sincerity in Ray's voice. He knew they had been set up, and he was living a life that they had stolen from them. But that wasn't his doing. "It's alright," Hannibal reassured him. "We understand you want to make a clean break. You gave a hell of a lot to this country, and you have every right to live in peace now. If I could make this all go away without involving you in it, believe me, I would."

Ray's hands unclenched and he ran his palms over his jeans. "What does she want me to talk about?"

Hannibal was silent for a moment. He knew what Ray's reaction would be, and he almost hated to speak it. When he finally spoke, it was quiet, as gentle as his voice ever got. "Linh Hu Nao."

As soon as Hannibal said the name, Ray was jumping up from his seat. "Son of a bitch!"

Face smiled tightly. But beyond that, none of them reacted. Certainly none of them were surprised by the outburst. Stalking around the coffee table, Ray paced across the floor, two steps towards the window before spinning back towards them.

"They ordered that damned assignment! What the hell is so secret about it?"

"Apparently, the entire thing," Hannibal answered steadily. "The way it came to Suzanne, in her files from the Agency, was that we went rogue."

Ray stared at him for a long moment then turned and swept the lamp off the table angrily. "God damn it!"

As the lamp hit the floor and the bulb shattered, Hannibal's eyes narrowed slightly. He wasn't surprised to see anger. But this was beyond the level of outburst that Boston had ever shown before.

"I still have nightmares about that god damned assignment!"

With nowhere to aim the frustration, it was coming out in all directions. Beyond him, Hannibal saw Suzanne and Trish appear in the mouth of the hallway and keep a safe – wise – distance.

"They had _no _right to give us those orders to begin with and we knew it! And now they're looking to pin the whole goddamn thing on us?"

Hannibal watched him quietly for a moment, then nodded slightly in the direction of his wife. Ray pulled his anger under control in an instant as soon as he saw her. He put his hands over his face and collapsed in the chair by the window. Trish moved to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Reaching up, Ray patted her hand

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Ray." Trish smiled at him, and for a second Hannibal felt something unspoken pass between the two. Forcing a smile Trish look at the rest of them. "I'll just go see about that coffee," she said as she left the room.

Ray rubbed his hand over his eyes, like he was trying to wipe away the memories of that day. It wouldn't work; none of them would ever forget. There was silence as Ray took a few deep breaths, then stood again and paced slowly. He kept his eyes away from everyone, instead fixing on the walls, the floor, the windows.

"What do they want?" he finally asked.

Cautiously, Suzanne came closer, skirting well around him and moving to stand by the sofa. Hannibal was aware of her, but he didn't look up. "They want to make sure that it never goes public," he answered quietly.

"Why the hell would any of us _want _to make that public?"

"Better question," Hannibal said, "why do they care about that particular assignment at this particular moment? Because if they wanted to bury us, they could've done it legitimately. They didn't need to make something up."

"Great. Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No."

Ray sat down again, head in his hands. "What do you want from me?"

"If they fail to get me behind bars, they could escalate. And it could put you in their crosshairs too. Unless we cut them off at the pass."

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"They don't want it public. The safest thing for you to do may be to make it as public as you can."

Ray stared, dumbfounded. "Are you serious? What do you want me to do, give an interview to the press?"

"Well, you could go to the press," Hannibal replied. "Though that may put you in a somewhat compromised position. You don't need a war crimes trial to complicate your life right now."

"We were under orders!"

"You'll still go down," Face said flatly. "Even if you prove the orders, you could've refused any order that violates the terms of warfare."

"I _know _that!"

Ray was pacing again. Face exchanged glances with Hannibal.

"Well, before you turn to the press," Hannibal said quietly, "Suzanne here would like to try and take your testimony up the chain of command at the CIA, and try to get to the bottom of the whole mess."

A quick glance at her, and she continued where Hannibal left off. "I don't know just how far up the chain of command this order came from. But whoever gave the order to cover this up, chances are they still answer to someone. And it's at least possible that whoever they answer to doesn't know the whole story."

Ray stared at her for a moment, then turned his eyes to Hannibal again. "What if I say no?"

Hannibal didn't answer. Better to let him work through that himself.

"What if… I'm just not willing to drag all of that shit up again?" He glanced at Suzanne. "The kind of stuff I remember from that day is not what you're interested in hearing anyways."

She took a deep, slow breath. "Mr. Brenner, I understand that you –"

"Don't," he cut her off, glaring at the too-calm tone. "Don't fucking patronize me."

Suzanne dropped her head. Hannibal was quiet for a moment, watching Ray, but he let her make her own recovery.

"I'm not about to try and force you" she said softly. "But I know you realize who you're dealing with. And I know that you realize if they want this to go away, they won't stop at Hannibal."

"If they were going to come after me, seems like they would've done it already."

"They may not have suspected you to be a threat."

"How could they not?"

"Probably because they didn't expect you to be fully briefed. If you weren't, then only Hannibal has the whole story."

"Why _wouldn't _we have been fully briefed?"

Hannibal had the better answer for that. "Because damn near everything we did for them was need-to-know. The fact that I shared details of our assignments with my team was, technically, against the rules."

"They expect that we did a mission like that without even knowing why?" Ray asked incredulously.

"If they did expect that, they may know better now," Suzanne replied quietly. "When I… abruptly left LA with the enemy, my partner would've confiscated my notes. And everything I've learned up to this point is in there."

Hannibal saw the anger flash in Ray's eyes, and quickly interjected. "To be clear, she had no control over that. But it is a valid concern that they may consider you a threat now, whereas they didn't before."

"What does that mean?"

The question was aimed directly at Suzanne. She took a deep breath and put her shoulders back before answering. "Worst case scenario, they try and sweep it under the rug."

It was a technical term, in Agency-speak. And Ray picked up on it instantly. "A kill order?" he cried, eyes wide. "Are you fucking kidding me? Here? How can they even conduct an operation like that here?"

She lowered her head again. "Legally, they can't. But they –"

"I have a _wife_!" Ray interrupted angrily. "We're trying to start a family! Didn't we bleed enough for you?"

As the target of his rekindled anger, Suzanne set her jaw and didn't speak.

"I left all of that back in Vietnam! I'm a fucking model citizen. You have no god damn right to bring this into my home!"

She didn't speak. Ray glared at her for a long moment, then pushed himself away from the fireplace mantle. From the lines in his forehead, Hannibal could tell he was thinking about what his options really were in this situation. His calm and tranquil life had suddenly been invaded by the one thing he had never wanted to deal with again. If Hannibal could've changed that, could've kept him out of it, he would've. But at the moment, they had no choice.

There was a moment of tense silence as Ray slowly came to terms with all the implications. This time when he stopped pacing he slumped against the wall, dropping his head and staring at the floor. No one spoke. Finally, Ray looked up and back over at Hannibal, locking eyes with him. For just a second, it was as if they had been transported back in time. Hannibal had seen that look before, in tents and hootches and com centers all over Southeast Asia. It was a look that they had all given him at one point or another. When they were faced with something they didn't want to do, when they weren't sure what the hell the 'right' thing was, but they trusted him not to steer them wrong. It was a look of someone who trusted implicitly, and without question, even when it hurt to think about. Time and geography had changed a lot of things, but it hadn't changed that.

Letting out a deep breath, Ray gave a stiff nod. "Alright," he said quietly. Very slowly, his eyes turned to Suzanne, and locked there, dead and cold. "What is it you want to know?"

Suzanne licked her lips slightly, hesitating, and made her first question count. "Who gave you the order?"


	21. Chapter Twenty

**CHAPTER**** TWENTY**

A clock was ticking. Breathing – several people. Hard floor beneath him. Blankets. Pillow. Coffee smell. Nicotine craving. Hannibal sat up.

Face and BA were both wrapped in blankets on the living room floor of Ray's quiet little country house. Suzanne was on the couch. Asleep – all of them. It was late by the time they'd finished up last night and Trish had insisted that they stay. Hannibal looked around for the source of the ticking and found the clock on the wall. He was barely able to make it out in the dim, early-morning light.

He pushed himself up, grabbing his pistol out from under his pillow and tucking it into the back of his pants. He was sure he smelled coffee. Without taking the time to really get his brain in working order, he wandered towards the kitchen – the logical place where one would find coffee. The light over the kitchen sink was on. Coffee was brewed. The back door was open.

He poured a mug of coffee and stepped out through the screen door into the cool, early morning air. His eyes immediately came to rest on the man sitting in the lawn chair with a cigarette and his own cup of coffee.

Staring off into the distance, Ray was looking past the trees, past the horizon. Eyes unfocused, he was holding on to a forgotten mug, and a cigarette that was mostly a trail of ash. All signs of a man reliving the past. Even though his eyes never left that far off place he was looking at, Hannibal knew that Ray was aware of his presence.

"It's going to be a beautiful sunrise." Ray's voice was gravely from too little sleep and too much history. It was low and quiet, carried on the heavy air of dawn.

Hannibal sighed as he sat down, not speaking.

"It's funny the things you remember," Ray said quietly. "Like… I remember that the sun never really rose or set there. It just appeared. And the only way we knew it was there was because things were lighter. You couldn't see it through the trees. And when the rains came you never saw it at all."

"Could see it in the camps," Hannibal said quietly. "The bases. CCN at Da Nang, watch it come out of the ocean."

"Da Nang," Ray repeated. "Where those goddamn sappers came in out of the ocean and massacred all the guys in their sleep."

"You weren't even there for that."

"No." Ray glanced up. "But you were."

Hannibal didn't look back at him, just nodded slightly. "Right smack in the middle of it."

Ray shook his head slowly as he raised his cigarette and took a deep, slow drag. "Sometimes I really wonder how in the hell it is that you're still alive, Hannibal."

Hannibal smiled.

There where several long moments of comfortable silence as he lit his cigar and took a few sips of coffee, waiting for his brain to engage. He wasn't surprised to see Ray awake; he'd never had trouble with mornings. But there was no feeling that they needed to fill the silence. It continued for several more minutes before Hannibal finally spoke.

"Glad to see you and Trish are doing well."

In honesty, Hannibal had expected there would be children here, by now. That had been planned from the beginning. But it wasn't his place to ask questions like that. Instead, he kept his words deliberately vague.

Just the mention ofher name brought a little more focus into Ray's eyes. Not that Hannibal was surprised by that. Even in Vietnam, when she was a world away, she had helped ground Ray. Trish keep him attached and aware of something other than the war and death that surrounded them. Tapping the ashes from his smoke, Ray took another long drag. There was a hint of a smile when he finally answered with a simple, unshakeable, "She's a fine woman."

"She seems like it."

"She'll be a hell of a mother one day."

There was a conviction to those quiet words; like he didn't just believe them, he had to believe them. Hannibal put his head back, breathing in the damp morning air. Conversation felt more awkward than the silence. For the moment, he was content to just sit still and feel the cool breeze. It was going to be hot today, he could already tell.

It was several minutes before Ray moved. Shifting forward slightly, he stretched out just far enough to stub out his cigarette in the ash tray on the patio table. With a soft sigh he leaned back into his chair and put his legs out in front of him, making himself comfortable before looking for the first time that morning at Hannibal.

"I hear you and the guys have been doing some freelance jobs."

Hannibal nodded. "You might say that."

There was no demand, no question, in Ray's words; just an interest. It was his way to try and bridge that empty void between Boston, the rock solid soldier, and Ray, the quiet family man.

Hannibal took a puff his cigar, letting the smoke roll around his mouth. "It's not what I'd call lucrative, nine times out of ten." He shot Ray a grin. "But it sure is fun."

Ray laughed. "Sounds like it."

"And it's something to do. It's... purpose."

There was a raised eyebrow and a questioning look as Ray took a sip of his coffee. "Word is, you're the ones to go to when no one else can help."

That pretty much described the missions they had in the Army, too, except this was different. They didn't have to follow anyone else's orders or rules. More importantly they didn't have to risk their lives for pointless political jockeying.

"They say you're ...helping"

Ray had searched for that last word. The wrinkle in his forehead was back as he watched Hannibal, trying to find a place for the pieces of his past which were now tied into his present and future

Hannibal cast a brief, knowing smile in Ray's direction. "I'm not made for a quiet life in the country, Ray. The army doesn't want us and we're just too damn good to hire out as mercenaries." He smirked at that. "So what else is there?"

Ray smiled at that familiar contagious grin. Clearly he agreed with Hannibal's well earned cocky take on how good the team was. It was something he would understand; Ray knew how they functioned. It was almost like a heart. All the separate parts and chambers, each doing their own thing, but still functioning and working in unison, making one seamless whole.

"To be honest, Hannibal, I have a hard time imagining you guys doing anything else."

That was more than just a casual statement. Hannibal could hear the approval and the hint of pride in Ray's voice. The team and being a part of it, was something Ray was still proud of—even if it was only a memory to him, an accomplishment. No matter how the Army had tried to take that away from him, from all of them.

Looking back off into the horizon Ray waited a second. "I haven't heard anything from Cruiser. It's like he fell off the face of the Earth."

Hannibal watched Ray in silence. For someone who didn't want the team coming around his new life, he had done a lot to "hear" about them. Ray wasn't just making conversation, he was letting Hannibal know he still cared about them; enough to find out what they were doing and watch over them from a distance.

"Cruiser…went his own way." Hannibal paused briefly, carefully choosing his words. "He wasn't with us in Hanoi, and as far as I traced him, he went to work for the Agency. I have no idea where he is now. If he's still alive."

There was a soft chuckle from Ray. "Cruiser in the CIA, I almost feel sorry for them." Still smiling, Ray shook his head. Hannibal didn't blame him for laughing. None of them ever imagined Cruiser becoming a spy. Ray didn't know the full story and Hannibal was about to tell him.

The calm silence was back for a few moments. Ray was staring at his coffee cup when he spoke quietly. "I heard Murdock had a breakdown."

Hannibal nodded slightly. "He did."

"And that he ended up in a psych ward in the VA hospital out in LA"

There was a genuine sadness in Rays voice and in the shadow that came over his eyes. Ray knew Murdock as the lanky, cocky pilot with smiling eyes who had saved their lives more than once. Sure, he had been wild and different, but he was no where near what he had become. Hannibal had to suppress a frown as he realized the last time Ray had seen Murdock, the pilot was being dragged of by the Viet Cong.

**"**Murdock's actually doing well. Normally, he'd be with us. But given that we didn't know how bad this might get, we didn't want to implicate him in this mess if it could be avoided. The less he appears connected to us, the better."

There was a start from Ray. He hadn't expected Hannibal to tell him Murdock worked with them. No surprise; who would expect something like that? A flash of hesitation and denial flickered in Ray's eyes and then faded away; replaced by a small but steady, sincere smile. He may not want to know about their day to day lives on the run, but cutting off all contact had cost him. Hannibal knew the price tag on that. He knew it well.

"That's real good to hear" Ray smiled.

Hannibal watched Ray out of the corner of his eye as he drained his coffee cup and turned his attention to the land around them. By the way Ray was furrowing his brow, Hannibal could tell he was taking time, trying to find his words.

"You know Hannibal, twenty four hours ago my biggest fear was that Trish would never be able to have a baby. Now I'm wondering if some fucked up pencil pusher at the CIA has finally lost his shit and is going to try and kill me over something that happened thirteen years ago."

Hannibal lowered his eyes. "I know."

"It scares the piss out of me," Ray admitted softly. "Because I've got a lot to lose. On the other hand, makes me think how luck I am to have so much to lose."

There was nothing Hannibal could say to that. He didn't try.

"You think Suzanne is going to really be able to do something about this?"

Hannibal didn't bother to try bullshitting him. "I don't know. But she'll either fix it or she'll hit a brick wall. Once I know where the brick wall _is_, I'll be able to set a charge underneath it. Keeping tabs on her will at least help me to find out who's in charge of this whole mess."

"She seemed surprised to hear Ekhart was the one who gave us the orders."

"That's because Ekhart was the guy who gave her _her _orders."

Ray stared at him for a long moment. "You think that's as far as it goes?"

"Hard to say. But she's not stupid."

"The way she dove for that phone makes it a little harder to take your word on that."

Hannibal smiled. The moment she'd heard the name, she'd wanted to make the call. It took a few moments of calming her down to make her realize that she didn't have a damn thing to go on. Calling right now would just give Ekhart a heads up. So far, there was nothing to prove that he'd acted out of line. Or that his superiors didn't already know.

"Anything we attempt is risky as hell when we don't know who knows what. Suzy will clear that up for us. Then we –" He cut off suddenly as a quick flash out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He shouldn't have even seen it - shouldn't have noticed it. But his eyes snapped to it like a magnet.

"What the hell?" Ray eyes were locked on it, too. "Did you see that?"

"I did," Hannibal answered flatly.

A quick flash, the rising sun reflecting off of something very small. Hannibal cut his gaze away, searching out of the corner of his eye for a repeat, rather than staring directly at it. It could be nothing. But if it was something, it was best they didn't stare at it.

"You got anything in those trees that might make a reflection like that?" he asked quickly.

"Like a rifle scope, you mean?" Ray replied, also watching out of the corner of his eye, head down. "Hell, no."

It could've been nothing. "In that case, I say we go in."

"I think –"

Another flash as the sun caught scope just right. Instinct. Hannibal was moving before he had any idea why, grabbing Ray and falling on top of him to the floorboards of the porch. He cried out in pain, but was already scrambling for the door almost before Hannibal had a chance to register the smell of blood. If he was moving, he wasn't dead. Without thought, Hannibal followed him, through the open back door and around the counter, backs to the cabinets and out of line of sight for that scope.

"Face! BA!" Hannibal yelled. "We got a sniper in the back yard!"

*X*X*X*

Suzanne was on the floor and reaching for a gun she didn't have before she really realized why. When the hand that went to her hip came up empty, she muttered a low, "Shit," before crawling after Face and BA, who were already halfway to the kitchen.

"Where?" Face asked, hesitating at the doorway. The back door was still open, and whoever was out there still had a potential shot if they crossed to where Hannibal and Ray were crouched.

"Two hundred yards, one o'clock."

Ray was both conscious and moving, holding his hand to his shoulder as the blood seeped through his fingers. Hannibal set his pistol on the floor as he slipped out of his outer shirt and pressed it against the wound. He didn't have to tell Ray what to do.

"Where's Trish?" he demanded as Ray applied the pressure, wincing at the pain.

"She's asleep on the second floor. Safest place for her right now."

"Friends of yours, Suzanne?" Face challenged, raising a brow at her.

"If they're CIA, then there's four of them," she answered automatically, watching Hannibal as he grabbed his backup weapon off of his ankle. "One on each side. They'll hold their position and one will move in to try and force us out. Maybe with a fire."

"Why'd they shoot?" BA demanded.

"Looks like someone jumped the gun."

"Alright, enough." Hannibal's order silenced everyone and everything, including the confusion in Suzanne's own head. She blinked in surprise as she suddenly realized that he had her complete and undivided attention. And she wasn't the only one.

"Guns," Hannibal said. "Where?"

Brenner winced as he tried to shift position. "Hall closet, upstairs."

"Walkie talkies?"

"No."

"Face, get those guns loaded; BA, check the perimeter as best you can. Assume we've got them on all four sides."

"Right, Hannibal." They were moving instantly.

"What kind of guns?" Hannibal was talking fast, and it was clear that he expected fast answers, and fast compliance. He snapped his fingers and she just about jumped. "Suzanne, get over here."

She didn't think twice.

"There's a 12 gauge and a 30.06, M1C. I was just about to sell the damn thing for –"

"Ammo?" Hannibal cut him off.

Crouched low beside them, Suzanne watched as Hannibal withdrew a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket, slipping them over his hands.

"In the orange ammo box in the top of the closet. There's a pistol too. 9-mil." The words came out between clenched teeth. Ray gave a weak smile. "Man, I don't miss getting shot."

Hannibal smirked, finished with the gloves and perfectly at ease in spite of the fact that they were most definitely under attack. And a serious one too. If that was a sweeper team out there, their mission was as do-or-die as it was illegal.

"At least it gets the adrenaline pumping," Hannibal said with a grin.

Hannibal handed his pistol to Suzanne, and his backup to Ray. "Anyone comes through that door," he nodded to the open back door, "shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?"

Suzanne nodded. He was looking directly at her, waiting expectantly for her confirmation. "Yes." She took the pistol and checked to see if a round was chambered.

"Keep pressure on that wound and keep your back to the wall. They won't shoot what they can't see."

She nodded again.

"Hannibal!" BA's voice was just loud enough to hear, hardly a shout but no less intense for the lack of volume. "I got one movin' in."

Hannibal exchanged glances with Ray, then with Suzanne. "Stay here; don't move."

Then he was gone.


	22. Chapter Twenty One

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

"Face, you got those guns?"

The question came up the stairs just as Face finished loading the ammunition into the M1C. It had been a hell of a long time since he'd fired this model. Not that he was complaining; given the current circumstances, it couldn't have been more perfect. He was surprised Ray had it – that he hadn't simply classified his weapons training with those things he would rather forget about. But hell, maybe he used it for hunting. Who knew?

"Guns are on the floor and loaded, Colonel. Where's your runner?"  
"Northeast corner at about a hundred fifty yards," BA answered.

Hannibal was coming up the steps as Face looked around to orient himself with directions. There was a closed door – he suspected bedroom – on the north wall. Trish was probably asleep in there. She'd wake up to the sound of the gunshot, for sure. But he'd deal with that problem when it came.

He knocked, but he wasn't waiting for a response. "Trish, I gotta come in."

Pushing the door open, Face didn't even look at the bed. He headed straight for the window - a nice alcove that matched the one downstairs. Perfect. He pressed his back against the wall and silently cracked the window open. His target was easy to spot. He wasn't even in camo.

Face could feel that unnatural calm sinking in to the core of his being as he raised the rifle and set it on the windowsill, grabbing a book off of the nearby shelf to brace it. He sighted it off of the tree that the advancing figure was just coming up to. The man was on his feet at the sound of the shot. Bolting now, towards the house. Behind him, Face could hear Trish stirring. He ignored her, thinking and feeling nothing as he slowly exhaled. He was tracking a running target now. But it was still perfectly natural, second nature. As he readied his finger on the trigger, he felt that heady, disconnected sense of surety. He fired without thought.

The man fell. Face pulled the barrel in. Until they knew where the others were, staying in the open window any longer than he had to was risky. They could get a bead on him more easily than he could on them.

"What's going on?" Disoriented and confused, Trish was sitting up in her bed, pushing her hair back with one hand.

Face headed back to the hallway where Hannibal and BA were. "Do me a favor and stay in bed," he said, smiling as he passed her.

He didn't give her a chance to respond before he slipped back out of the room and shut the door behind him. Maybe she was still half asleep. But at the very least, he knew she'd seen the rifle in his hand. If she had any sense at all, she'd know when to follow orders.

Hannibal was tucking the pistol into his belt as Face approached. "One down."

"That means probably three to go," Hannibal answered, grabbing the shotgun.

BA frowned deeply. "You think she tellin' the truth that this is a sweeper team?"

"I don't know how much she knows," Hannibal said. "But I wouldn't be entirely surprised if when she dropped off the grid, whoever's calling the shots moved to a plan B."

"Plan B?" Face repeated, amused. "Break every jurisdictional law in existence and kill a few innocent American citizens? You know, I'm starting to develop a real opinion about this guy…"

"Three more," Hannibal said again ignoring the sarcasm. "We need to get them to move."

"Or at least give away their position," Face added. "Windows on all four sides. I can hit whatever you can shake up in those trees. And it's a hell of a lot better than playing on turf they've had time to scope out."

"We've got a path out the front," Hannibal said. "If we stay low, we should be able to get out without too much of a risk."

BA nodded, unquestioningly. "Which one you wanna draw out first?"

"The one that shot at Ray couldn't have moved that far," Face said.

Hannibal grinned. "Why settle for drawing out just one?"

Face stared. Something about that glint in his eye, and the way his smile broadened, made everything in Face wary about the impending jazz-filled orders. "What are you thinkin', Hannibal?" BA asked.

Hannibal turned, smile still full. "Face, where's your car keys?"

Face groaned audibly. "That's not funny, Hannibal. What is it you don't understand about loaner?"

Hannibal's grin widened. "We'll give it back."

"Yeah, riddled with bullet holes!"

BA shook his head, wearing a small grin he couldn't quite hide as Hannibal held out a hand expectantly for the keys. Face glared as he fished the key out of his pocket and smacked them down into Hannibal's waiting palm. Hannibal handed them over to BA.

"Let's go."

*X*X*X*

Suzanne was in work mode. She knew what to do. The familiar drumming of adrenaline was kicking up her heart rate, making her senses hyper acute. She was in control. She was focused.

"Are you with me, Ray?" Her hand was tight on his wound, but the blood was still seeping through, slow saturating Hannibal's shirt.

"I can't believe there are goddamn snipers in my yard."

He was grimacing in pain, and plenty angry. But he was very much alert and aware. Good sign.

She gave him a tight smile. "Neither can I."

Peeling back the shirt that was wadded up against his shoulder Suzanne examined his wound. There was a large hole high up in his shoulder close to where it meet the neck. "I don't see an exit wound."

"Uh huh."

The bullet was just a couple of inches away from being a kill shot. Painful, and it would severely limit the use of Brenner's arm until it healed. But it wasn't bleeding quite fast enough to suggest it had hit an artery. And he was still breathing fine, so it hadn't hit his lung, either.

"Fucking hell, that hurts…"

They needed an ambulance. But more than that, they needed those men outside gone before they killed everyone in the house. It took an effort on her part to push down the anger at that thought. The people out there—trying to kill them—were her coworkers. People who trained with her, took the same oath as her, followed the same rules.

Murdering American citizens, on American soil was against every damn rule they had. She would see the man behind this nailed to the damn wall. That thought added to the energy coursing in her blood. She had a goal and a target, and it felt good.

Putting pressure back on the wound she gave Ray another smile. "We'll get you out of here and taken care of soon."

Anything Ray said in reply was lost to the out by the shockingly loud sound of a rifle being fired from inside the house. Jumping at the noise, Suzanne automatically brought up the gun in her hand, as her head turned towards the steps, the direction from which the gun was fired. Heart pounding, from the corner of her eye she saw Brenner smile.

"Sounds like Face found the rifles."

Suzanne had no chance to respond before Hannibal and BA appeared from the steps, moving very fast and quiet. So quiet she never heard them. Just how in the hell could they move like that? It was beyond impressive. Without so much as a word or a glance in her direction, they were out the door and gone.

The sound of Brenner chuckling had her head swiveling back toward him. She was sure the shock of watching those two head out into the open made it to her expression. Brenner winced as he relaxed back against the cabinet watching her.

"Leave it to Hannibal to go out there with them." He paused, and winced at the pain as he slid down a little further. "He always did like the direct approach."

"Direct? It seems closer to suicidal."

"He's been called that before. And not surprisingly."

Suzanne stared at Ray for a moment. He wasn't the least bit rattled by being shot. It seemed more like an inconvenience than a life or death situation. By all counts, he should be panicking right now. But she had researched Hannibal's missions, and given some of the things they had done, it made an odd kind of sense that getting shot was no big deal by comparison.

More shocking to her was the fact that Brenner seemed to have complete, unfailing confidence in Hannibal. Over a decade away from serving with him, Brenner still followed Hannibal's orders and answered his rapid fire inquires without so much as a hesitation. In fact, _none_ of them had questioned or hesitated, not even her.

"Don't think too hard about it, Suzanne." She turned and looked at Ray, in time to see him smile faintly. "You'll never figure him out."

Maybe Ray was right, but she couldn't help it. How in the hell did he do that? She looked towards the door he'd disappeared out of, letting her mind wonder in silence. There was something about the way he moved and spoke that made people _want _to follow him. She hated to admit that; it made no sense. She didn't even like him, but being near him when he went from cocky and joking to suddenly deadly, made her very aware of his power and authority. Like a moth to the flame, that power called to her. How she reacted to him made her feel… well she had no idea what the feeling was, but he made her want to figure it out.

She took some comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only one who responded to his authority. Even Baracus, who'd had altercations with list of officers longer then some phone books, deferred to Hannibal. _No_ one had been able to keep Baracus in check. If it hadn't been for his downright genius for mechanics, he would have spent his life in the brig. Yet she had just seen proof that Hannibal not only kept him in check, he had Baracus willing to follow him into a shooting gallery.

She had read about it, even talked to Hannibal about it. But to see that kind of loyalty in action was something else all together.

"What the hell is he planning?' She would bet her life on the fact that he _had _a plan.

"God only knows," Ray answered with a smile.

The adrenaline was flowing faster; it had been since Hannibal had slid outside. She felt like it was _her_ out there under the gun with him. What if he was killed? What would she do then? Clenching her hand tighter around the gun Hannibal had given her—his gun—she felt a surge of something she couldn't classify or explain.

"Don't worry, Suzanne." She looked at Brenner again. "That man's guardian angel is really on his toes."

She wanted to say something. Wanted to correct him. He shouldn't be the one trying to comfort her; he was the one with a bullet wound. And really, she didn't need the comfort. She knew Hannibal would be alright. She knew it the same way that she knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west. How did she know it so clearly?

Ray paused for a moment and shut his eyes, breathing slow and steady "Funny… He hasn't changed a bit since 'Nam."

She gave him a bemused smile, in spite of herself. "He was a cocky pain in the ass then too?"

Ray didn't answer, only smiled. She heard the car start, the engine rev. She'd been expecting to hear shots, or maybe screams of pain. Not the sound of a car spitting gravel. Heart pounding, she found herself wishing like hell could see out the window. She just couldn't help but wonder, with stomach tingling intensity, what in the hell he was doing now.

*X*X*X*

Every sense, every fiber in Face's body was on high alert, scanning for movement. That sixth sense that had kept him alive in the jungle was working full force as he settled into position at the open window. He could see Hannibal and BA as the moved towards the car. But his attention was focused further off in the distance. Snipers. They were out there, and he knew it. But he had the higher ground…

Had he gone into any other division of the military – somewhere other than Special Forces – it probably would've been as a sniper. He'd been taught on the side by a few Marines near Saigon, and he kept up with it. There was nothing like it - looking for any signs of the enemy, trying to draw a bead on them in the same moment that they thought they had the upper hand.

A familiar calm filled him as he found that stillness inside him. He knew what to do without thinking; it was second nature. Slow, deep, controlled breaths, a steady hand, sense alert for any sign of movement, any giveaway to the enemy's position. It would be a quick sighting, and then drop the target. One shot, he wouldn't need any more than that.

The car's engine turned over before Hannibal had the passenger side door shut. Face watched as the car lurched forward, heading straight thought the rose bushes between the garage and house. Kicking up dirt and gravel, they plowed over the flowers and into the side yard. The front bumper clipped the large bird bath, and then… movement. A shot shattered the back window, just as the back end of the car whipped around in a perfect one hundred and eighty degree arc.

Face saw it out of the corner of his eye. His attention was far more focused on the muzzle flash in the trees. It took him only a fraction of a second to adjust his aim, but his concentration made it feel as though he had all the time in the world. The location of the flash was burned in his memory; he had his target. Through the head or the chest? Face curbed the natural instinct and aimed for the leg of the shooter. Then he waited for the natural pause in his breathing, and squeezed the trigger slowly and evenly. Before he even heard the report of his shot, the target dropped and Face was back inside the window with his back to the wall.

Shotgun. As he peered back outside, he saw Hannibal in the window of the car, shooting as the car headed towards the trees where the first shot had come from. Taking the shortest path, BA smashed right into the patio furniture, sending it scattering.

Face was ready, and reacting without thought, training and experience had it down to muscle memory. There was nothing else going on, noting else existed as he waited for the muzzle flash. It wasn't long before the fire was returned, this time through the windshield. Aim, find your breath, and squeeze the trigger. One more shot, one more down.

BA threw the car in reverse, and sped backwards, leaving deep ruts in the grass. As Face relocated to a window with a better aim, The car lurched forward and headed back around to the front of the house. The bird feeder never really stood a chance.

The last one shooter was more careful. Seeing his team picked off, one by one probably had something to do with his caution. Face's loaner was less than one hundred yards when he took a panicked shot at the fast-moving car headed in his direction. Panicked or not, he was a decent shot. It hit almost dead center in the cars grill. Steam and fluid from the radiator exploded from under the hood, making it hard to see. Hitting the windshield wipers, BA swerved to the left heading back toward the driveway.

Everything else was background noise and arbitrary as Face spotted the last one. The rifle was aimed and he was squeezing the trigger before he ever consciously processed the muzzle flash. One shot, one last hit and, it was done. Still Face sat there for a moment, eyes scanning, looking for any more threats.

His car mowed over the flower bed, crushing petunias and marigolds under the tires until it finally came to a steaming, hissing, wheezing, quivering stop. There was a sputtering, knocking sound from the engine just before it stalled, leaving the car in almost exactly the same spot it had started in.

Face waited, watching as BA and Hannibal got out of the car and gathered up the injured men. He didn't want any unexpected surprises. Damn it, he was going to have to come up with one hell of a story to explain just what had happened to that car.

Finally, he turned away from the window, and headed back down the stairs, passing Suzanne, Trish, and Ray along the way. "You okay?" he asked with a frown as he looked at Ray.

"I've just been shot. What do you think?"

Face smiled faintly, and glanced at Suzanne, who was watching him carefully. "What happened?" Trish asked. "Is it over?"

Face nodded. "Yeah. It's over. Call an ambulance, will you?"

Ray was trying to get up. "I wanna see them." He glared indiscriminately at the wall in front of him. "I just can't wait to tell them what I think about them bringing this shit back into my life."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

"Raise that rifle and the next move you make will be through a long tunnel towards a very bright light."

The bleeding man, lying flat on his stomach with one hand over a shoulder wound and the other around the handle of his rifle, thought better of it as soon as he looked up and into the barrel of a .45.

"Who the hell are you?" he managed, clearly in pain.

Hannibal was not inclined to answer that. Keeping the gun trained, he bent down and grabbed the man's uninjured arm, hauling him up. He ignored the cry of pain, jerking the rifle out of the man's hands as soon as he was on his feet.

"Move!"

They arrived in the center of the yard at almost the same time as Face and BA came dragging the other two out of the woods. Stripped of their weapons and bleeding from shoulder and arm wounds, they sat down in the grass in a clump and waited for further instruction. Ray was watching from the porch. Suzy was missing. Where the hell had she gone? Particularly since she still had his gun.

"Face? BA? Why don't you two keep our new friends here company. I'm going to go call for an ambulance."

"And police, I would suggest." Face's obvious addition was not directed at Hannibal so much as the men on the ground. Who would have fun trying to explain to the locals why they decided to start shooting at unarmed civilians.

Hannibal left them to think about it as he headed through the yard and up the porch steps. "Ray? How you holding up?"

Ray nodded. It was all the answer Hannibal really needed. "The phone in the kitchen doesn't work," Ray said quietly. "You'll have to go upstairs. I think Suzanne already went to call."

Hannibal clapped his unhurt shoulder as he passed. He was nearly run over by Trish as she plowed down the steps and out the front door to be closer to her hurt husband. As he headed up the steps, he could hear Suzanne on the phone.

"Put me through to him"

Suzy's voice was serious and professional, but he could feel the adrenaline and excitement from where he stood. Nothing like waking up to a sniper to get the blood flowing. "Listen." Her voice snapped with authority even though she hadn't raised her voice.

"This line is unsecure, and you _don't _have the clearance for this. Code 12 Alpha Omega. Now... put me through."

There was no denying power behind that demand; she expected her order to be followed. Not bad for someone who was still in the over sized t-shirt she had borrowed to sleep in.

Smiling to himself he crossed his arms loosely over his chest and leaned in the open doorway. Strange to hear that authoritative tone coming from a woman who looked like she'd just rolled out of bed. His eyes raked her almost subconsciously - head to toe. His gun in one hand, the phone in the other, back ramrod straight as she stared at the wall, waiting for whoever was on the other end of that phone to comply.

"Agent Davis 177 reporting. We have a situation. A sweeper team just failed in their attempt on several _American_ targets in Grove, Oklahoma. We need a clean up crew sent to the local hospital to collect them." Therewas a subtle change in her demeanor when she spoke again. Her jaw was set in determination and satisfaction.

"And sir, it would appear they were acting on orders from section Chief Ekhard."

Her hand gripped his gun a little tighter when she said the name. There was more then grim satisfaction in her words, there was a contained energy .and the thrill of catching her prey, achieving her goal.

He watched her as she filled in what few details she dared on an unsecured line. Then she hung up and dialed the operator. When Suzy she spoke again, she was a much less calm and controlled with her tone. It was hard to tell if she was doing it for their benefit or her own. It had to be something of a pressure valve for the adrenaline that was making her hands shake.

Finally, she slammed down the phone and spun towards the door, wearing a huge smile. She pulled up short after only a half step as she saw him watching her, but that smile held.

"I hope you have those details all worked out for the local police. They're going to be very interested in hearing your side of the story."

"I can handle the locals." Suzy's eyes met his, full of confidence. With a grin that was close to being a smirk, she waved her hand towards the front yard. "What we have here are four suspected terrorist who will refuse to answer any questions. They will be taken into custody by the CIA, never to be heard from again."

"Which you singlehandedly apprehended, no doubt."

She paused for a moment, considering that. Finally, she gave an elegant shrug. "Unless you want the police tipped off to your location, then yes, I managed this all by my lonesome. My superiors will get the real facts." Her causal tone made it clear she didn't give a damn about the credit. That's not where she got her high from.

She'd called the police, as far out in the sticks as they were it would take time for them to get here. But still Hannibal wanted to get out of here before the police arrived. The last thing he needed was to be answering questions about shootings and who they were.

Taking a step closer to her, he nudged the door closed with his foot but didn't latch it. She watched him, not flinching, not backing away. He stepped even closer, into her personal space and closed his hand over hers, around his pistol. She was still smiling as she held her ground; except now there was something more in that smile and her eyes, challenge. Adrenaline. Success. It was like a drug to her, and she was more than tipsy on it.

"I'm going to need this back, Suzy."

If she even noticed the use of her name, she said nothing. She didn't have to. What she was thinking was obvious. That rush of feeling was seeping out of her, into her actions. She wasn't holding any tighter to the weapon, but she didn't let go either. Riding that wave of adrenaline high, feeling unstoppable and looking for a release, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's a nice gun"

He could feel it in her - the drive, the tension, all raging just under the surface with nowhere to go. As he held her bold gaze, he kept his hand steady, over hers and over the gun. Very slowly, he moved his thumb to the inside of her wrist, stroking lightly, watching her in silence with a slight, knowing smile on his lips.

He could see it in her, too. She was confident and in control. She believed she'd won in the end; against the world, against the powers of right and wrong, and against him. As his thumb pressed to her pulse point, he moved his hand up slowly - wrist to forearm, letting her keep the gun, waiting for her move. He knew she'd make the move. The adrenaline wouldn't allow her to _not_ make it.

He was right. Confident and bold, she moved in, pressing her body tight against his. Her free hand ran up chest to his neck, then behind his head as she slid languidly closer to him. When her lips were a hair's breadth away from his neck, she finally whispered to him, low and seductive, "Is that _all_ you want?"

She was more than sure of herself and of what his reaction would be. He smiled to himself as he left the pistol in her grip, moving his hands to her hips and then down to the edge of the T-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs. This was a game she had played before, and had most likely always won. He turned slowly, moving her until the back of her legs hit the bed. Watching her eyes, reading the want in them, he pushed her back onto the mattress. Slowly he ran one hand up to her waist, beneath the shirt.

She ran her leg along his, drawing her bare foot up his calf. It was a practiced move - one he was willing to bet had served her well in the past. Arching up to him she let her lips play over the hollow beneath his Adam's apple.

Every move she made was graceful, confident, and choreographed to keep her in control of the situation. Her lips were on his in a deep, demanding kiss – and she was very good at it. Her leg was wrapped around his. Combined with the hand on his neck it gave her the leverage she needed for what he knew she was planning next. Even with the gun in her other hand she was able to shift her hips and move her body, rolling him on to his back.

He smirked. Time for Suzy to learn a new lesson.

Step one was to change the rules of the game. When she moved him to his back, Hannibal didn't let her stop there. Instead, he rolled with her, moving his hand behind her back to catch her weight as they hit the floor with a loud thud. She didn't seem to mind. Just the opposite in fact, judging by the way he could feel her heart pounding and her breath catch.

Step two, neutralize. The shaky table next to the bed toppled over as they hit it, and his eyes flickered just briefly to the lamp that was now on the floor. Perfect. Engaging her in another deep kiss, he rolled with her until he could grab the cord, then back again, looping it in a knot that could be quickly tightened. Hannibal smiled into the kiss. His mind was on the cord, her mind was very clearly elsewhere.

Finally, they hit the edge of the bed again. He pulled the gun out of her hand and then, in a flash, had her wrists pinned to the floor on either side of the corner post. It wasn't hard to get them through the loop in the cord, and it only took a second to pull it tight, effectively trapping her. As he wrapped the cord around her wrists a few more times just for good measure, his eyes locked on hers. He smiled knowingly at the wanting, confused look in her eyes.

"You like that push and pull, don't you?" he breathed, teasing her.

It wasn't really a question. The adrenaline and excitement had gotten the better of her. She was lost in the feeling and in no position to stop what she had started. Underneath him she gave a low moan, arching up to him as he leaned down and put his lips to her ear.

Dropping his voice to a low, seductive whisper, he smiled again, finishing off the knot. "Do you like it when I've got you flat on your back and wanting me?"

She didn't answer him with words, but her legs went around his waist and she was using her lips, teeth and tongue on his neck, and jaw

He was still smiling as he withdrew from her. Carefully moving his hands down her sides, putting her legs back down on the floor. Watching only her eyes as he slid callused hands slowly back up over the smooth skin of her thighs again. Grinning at the way her breath caught, and the dampness he could feel all on her thighs. His hands went to her hips, not stopping until his fingers hooked around the flimsy waistband of her panties. Hannibal made sure his eyes never left hers as he slowly drew her panties down her legs.

"I almost feel sorry for you, Suzy." The quiet words filled the heavy air in the room as he pulled her panties off of her feet and slipped them into his pocket. Hannibal set his warm hands on her calves, holding her legs together, stroking his thumb across her overheated skin. He gave himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her wanting him so much she was shaking with they intensity of it. "You want so badly

to win. And you just can't accept that sometimes, you're destined to lose."

Grinning in amusement, he waited expectantly to see what she thought of step three in his lesson plan.

"What?"

"It's been fun, Suzy. But I have to get back to LA. And you have to get back to your work. Unless, of course, this is part of your mission objective."

He wasn't disappointed by her reaction. It took her a few seconds to work thought the haze of emotion and excitement and figure out what was going on. He knew the second she figured it out. The intensity in her eyes was suddenly burning bright with pure anger.

"You son of a bitch!"

She was so mad, she forgot her hands were neatly and securely tied to the leg of the bed. Struggling fiercely, she tried to yank her arms to get to him. When that didn't work she switched her focus to trying her damndest to kick him. She never had a chance of succeeding, but she put up a good struggle.

Furious and indignant she growled up at him from the floor. "You are going to pay for this you… you..." She couldn't seem to find something bad enough to describe him.

"Try not to take it too hard Suzy," he grinned as he stood up, picking up his pistol from off the floor and tucking it into the back of his pants. "Think of this as a life lesson in _quip pro quo_."

"What!"

Standing over her he pointed down at her. "You tied me naked to a bed and left me to be picked up by law enforcement. I'm returning the favor. But in the interest of common decency, I'll let you keep your clothes." He smirked. "Most of them."

"God damn you!"

He chuckled and as she twisted, kicking out with her leg, trying to sweep his feet from under him; she was about six inches too short to pull that move off.

"Aww, come on Suzy, you should thank me for giving you the opportunity to learn new things."

"Fuck you!"

She didn't seem to appreciate is teaching style. He raised an eyebrow in amusement as her furious movements slid the hem of the T-shirt to the tops of her thighs. The woman did have incredible legs. Not surprisingly, his enjoyment and her exposure just seemed to feed her anger.

"Don't you even _think_ about leaving me here like this, you bastard!"

Flat on her back, tied, wearing only an oversized t-shirt, she was making a demand. Hannibal laughed out loud. He couldn't help it; she was funny as hell. This was most definitely not been what she had planned when she moved on him. He had to wonder, somewhere in the back of his mind, how many men she'd ever known who would've turned her down.

"I mean it Smith," she warned with a hiss.

"Here." He withdrew his pocket knife and tossed it in her general direction. "Just to make things fair."

He'd let her struggle with exactly how to reach it and use it. She was pretty flexible, and creative. She'd find a way. Might take her a while, but she'd manage it.

"I'll leave your guns on the kitchen table for you." He paused at the doorway and smiled at her. "You've been fun, Suzy. I wish you luck".

She growled. "You are going to pay for this Smith."

He smiled. It was impossible to be threatening in her position, reaching for the knife with her toes. Turning away with a quiet chuckle, he left the room and closed the door behind him. His smile grew as he heard her muffled voice calling down the hall.

"Hannibal! You filthy rotten god damned son of a bitching bastard!"

With her colorful use of swear words and her ability to tie knots, she really would have made a damn fine sailor.

By the time he made it to the steps, the noise stopped. She was devoting all her energy towards getting herself untied. Smart move.

He passed through the kitchen and dropped her guns on the table, just as promised. Then, stepping out the back door and on to the porch Hannibal reached for his cigar. A grin came over his face at the thought of just what she was going to do when she got herself free. Whatever it was, it was bound to be entertaining.

"You're going to pay for this damage to the car," Face said flatly as he approached. "Just so we're perfectly clear on that."

"Aw, relax, Lieutenant," Hannibal smiled, setting a hand on Face's shoulder. "It wasn't even yours."

Face sighed. "Right."

"Where she at?" BA asked as he approached.

"Suzy?"

He nodded, not speaking.

"She's going to stay and wait for the police. They should be on the way."

"Which means," Face interjected, "that we should be going."

"An ambulance should be here, too," Hannibal said.

Trish looked exceedingly relieved to hear that. Ray only smiled faintly as he leaned against the railing down the side of the porch steps. "Hey. Next time you come to visit, try not to bring snipers who wanna kill me, huh?"

Hannibal smiled as he nodded, holding out a hand to shake with Ray. "I'll make a point of it."

"Hey, Hannibal, how we gonna get home?"

Hannibal looked first at BA, then looked over his shoulder at the broken, shot up hunk of metal near the driveway. He was smiling as he glanced back at Ray. "Any chance we could borrow your car?"


	24. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

**July 1969**

Hannibal set his orders down. "I don't like it."

He could feel Ross Westman's eyes on him as he set the papers down on the corner of the desk and took a step towards the window, chewing on his cigar.

"What's to like?" the general asked.

"Every time the Agency requests my team for something, it's some new bullshit assignment."

"Yes, that's what they do."

"They've got their own set of rules they play by."

"Yes, they do."

"And sooner or later, they're going to get us all court marshalled."

"Well, they're gonna have a hell of a time court marshalling me. And as long as I'm here, you've got nothing to worry about."

Hannibal didn't answer.

Westman tapped out a cigarette and lit it in silence. "You worry about keeping your team together and I'll worry about your careers."

Hannibal paused, almost to the window, and turned, crossing the few steps back toward the desk. "Everybody knows they've got their hands in things they shouldn't even be looking at, much less touching. It's one thing to acknowledge that there are VC in our ranks. It quite another to order a goddamn ethnic cleansing. And you know damn well they've been responsible for a number of such 'incidents.'"

That wasn't a question. If Hannibal had heard about them, Westman sure as hell had. Hell, the whole damn country knew – and the one overseas did, too. God bless America and its fucking free press; they turned the civilians back home against their soldiers faster than they could _say_ CIA, much less comprehend that they were the ones ultimately behind the dramatic TWEP-ing assignments that the papers had had such a ball with.

"You got your orders, John," Westman said simply. He glanced up at the ceiling, exhaling a steam of smoke before looking back at Hannibal. "And I've got mine."

"Bullshit," Hannibal said quietly.

Westman laughed. "Oh, I got orders, Colonel. My orders are to make this conflict end, just as soon as possible. And however you or I feel personally about the Agency, that's gotta take a backseat to the task at hand."

"This isn't just a personality clash, General."

"No, it's not. But if it was, it'd be all the same. They requested you."

"Why me?"

"'Cause your team just so happens to specialize in 'What the hell were they thinking' assignments."

Hannibal was not amused. "And what is it they want us to do?"

"Hell if I know. That's outside of my 'need to know.'" He paused. "And frankly, I don't _want _to know. I got enough bullshit to worry about without adding their affairs on top of it."

"I don't like that," Hannibal said flatly. It was nothing but an empty statement of fact.

"I don't care if you like it. That's the way it is."

Westman took another drag, tapping his ashes onto the floor. He voice softened just a fraction as a small smile pulled at his mouth. "Just get it done, John. It's not like they ask for you all that often."

Hannibal looked at him for a long moment, then turned away. "I don't like what it does to my team."

"What do you mean?"

"We're disposable. I understand that. Any soldier understands that. But the Agency brings that out in a way that's…"

"Personal?" Westman offered.

Hannibal's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

"You have your orders, Colonel. And I've got your back when the shit does hit the fan."

Hannibal turned to look at him again. Their gazes remained locked for a long moment, then he looked back down at the papers. There was nothing on them, really. Name: his team - one sheet for each of them. Date: two days from now. Orders: Report to Richard Ekhart in Saigon. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. His look was cold as he picked up the few sheets.

"You know, Ross," he said coldly, seriously, "something seems really wrong when my team's protected no matter what damned unholy mission we pull off, just as long as we're doing it under the orders of a civilian agency. And yet we all put our careers on the line if we refuse those orders. Even in order to uphold the terms of warfare."

"I'm not telling you to violate terms of warfare."

"You're telling me to follow orders from an organization that doesn't give a good god-damn about right and wrong," Hannibal clarified. "And maybe this time it'll be just fine. But maybe next time it won't. Or the time after that. Or after that. And I gotta be honest with you, if I'm gonna be burned, I damn sure don't want it to be for them."

With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Westman stood to his feet. "Something's wrong with this whole goddamned war, John." He paused beside Hannibal, and put a hand on his shoulder. "But I'm not gonna let them burn you. As long as I'm alive, you won't ever be on the receiving end of a court martial for something you did under orders. You have my word on that."

**Thanks for reading, all. The next book in this series, titled Don't Say A Word, will be posting under TiggerToo's name as I have been so lax in actually doing updates that I only usually get them posted when she reminds me anyways. You may want to get her author updates if you get mine, as she and I co-write all of these books at this point and my writing will be found under her name as well. In case you're interested, the next book is Murdock-central, and will post as soon as she starts posting it. :) It's done, so it shouldn't be too long. **


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